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JAPAN REFERENCE 
LIBRARY 
-<>- 

NEW YORK 











ROSE AND CHRYSANTHEMUM 


~ . 













.. 


































































































































































































« 





ROSE AND CHRYSANTHEMUM 


BY 




y ill-! pm CARLTON DAWE 

A *» 

AUTHOR OF “THE MANDARIN,” “A BRIDE OF JAPAN,” 
“YELLOW AND WHITE,” ETC. 



BOSTON 

KNIGHT & MILLET 

1900 


f 



PRINTED BY 

WILLIAM HODGE AND COMPANY, 
GLASGOW AND EDINBURGH. 


With the exception of “The Silken Cord,” which 
is now published for the first time, all these 
Stories have appeared serially in the pages of 
the English Illustrated Magazine. 


C. D. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Rose and Chrysanthemum 1 

LOTUS -SAN 3 

Hina-San .......... 31 

THE MUSUMfi 33 

Tokio .......... 59 

AT THE SHRINE OF SHINTO 61 

Kobe 87 

KIKU 89 

Half- Breed 117 

THE YELLOW KIMONO 119 

Calling 145 

SINGAPURA 147 

Nagasaki .......... 175 

MISS CHERRY-BLOSSOM 177 

Sayonara 201 

THE SILKEN CORD 203 





















' 








































ROSE AND CHRYSANTHEMUM 


From Hakodate in the north , 

To Nagasaki in the south , 

There's many a gleaming eye and cheeky 
And many a rosy mouth. 

And when the long day's task was done y 
And we from toil were free y 
We sat and watched the yellow sun 
Sink in the Yellow Sea. 


The junks still round the headland steep> 
The flowers bloom on the hill ; 
Chrysanthemum and roses keep 
Beauty and fragrance still. 

Big ships swing idly in the bay 
From many a stormy main; 

But he who stole from thee aicay. 

Shall ne'er come back again. 


No more the kina, and no more 
The tinkling of guitar: 
Beneath a duller sky he treads , 
Beneath a colder star. 

And yet in fancy beautiful 
He often sits with thee. 

To watch again the yellow sun 
Sink in the Yellow Sea. 


B 












































































































































































































































































































































































































































. 






























































































LOTUS-SAN 

Lotus-San stood upon the headland that 
guards the entrance to the Bay of Nagasaki 
and dreamily gazed away to seaward. 
Above her hung the clouds in pearly 
clusters: the sun, sloping away westward, 
filled the air with a delicious warmth, and 
illumined with a broad sheet of light its 
pathway to the ocean. Here and there 
sped the white gulls, occasionally startling 
the still air with a hoarse caw: the junks, 
gaunt birds of a monstrous growth, whipped 
round the headland and glided like sentient 
beings into the smooth water of the harbour. 
And the sun saw and smiled upon the 
labours of men, and lit the eyes of 
Lotus-San with wonder and beauty. 

And yet it was none of these things that 
held the girl’s eyes riveted to seaward, 


4 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

though the great, throbbing scene had a 
weird influence of its own. Away to the 
south she had seen a cloud of smoke, which 
at first fluttered like a torn ribbon on the 
horizon, and this she had watched and 
watched until that ribbon, woven in the 
mysterious loom of the gods, had taken 
unto itself a black and prodigious shape, 
which spread like some uncouth monster 
across the sea. 

But presently Lotus-San guessed the 
meaning of that dark cloud, and, as she 
watched, the topmasts of a steamer peeped 
up behind the hill of sea. Then, like a 
thing feeling its way, higher and higher 
it climbed the hill, until it stood upon the 
very summit, and she saw its masts and 
its one big funnel, and the white line of 
foam which rose before it as if to check 
its progress. But on it swung, straight 
on for the headland upon which she was 
standing, the distance lessening rapidly 
between it and her. Now she could even 


Lotus- San 


5 


distinguish the flag that flew aft. It was 
the red English flag, the flag that flew 
from so many vessels down in the bay. 
Presently she almost fancied she could see 
the men hurrying hither and thither upon 
the decks; then from the red funnel there 
issued a thick cloud of smoke, which hung 
like a curtain upon the sea. Instinctively 
she closed her eyes. 

When she opened them again, the smoke, 
fading away in the distance, had risen 
before the sun, and a filmy, golden haze 
greeted her eyes, totally transforming the 
face of the waters. The ship, too, had 
rapidly drawn near, and as it passed 
beneath her, her face filled with melancholy, 
and instinctively her hand went to her 
breast. For of a sudden, unknown to her, 
as it were, a chilliness had crept into her 
heart: with the fall of the anchor, which 
she almost fancied she could hear, she 
shuddered, and then turned wearily away. 

Time after time she had seen the ships 


6 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

come and go, a wondering curiosity follow- 
ing them on their way, a strangeness as of 
awe filling her for those who go down to 
the sea in ships; but never had the coming 
or going of any vessel so strangely affected 
her as the advent of this monster with the 
red funnel. Her imagination trifled with it 
until it became a part of her. From her 
home on the hillside she searched- the bay 
for that red funnel. She watched the 
sampans come and go, dreaming, dreaming. 

Her mother found her beside the gate, 
and was much struck by the strange new 
look of her daughter’s face. 

“ What ails thee, child ? ” 

But the child answered not, because she 
did not know. With a weary smile she 
turned away, and the mother, wise in her 
generation, shook her head and imagined 
things. And still the thoughts of Lotus- 
San reverted to the ship with the red 
funnel, and in her dreams that night she 
stood once more upon the headland and 
saw the smoke-belching monster sweep 


Lotus-San 


7 


grandly up out of the sea, glide through 
the narrow entrance to the bay and drop 
anchor. And the sound of the rushing 
cable smote a chill on her heart, and she 
awoke, frightened, and peered up trem- 
blingly into the night. 

Now the orchard of Otoko, the father of 
Lotus-San, was famous throughout the 
whole of Nagasaki. It nestled on the side 
of the hill amid the quaint roofs of the 
pretty houses, and commanded an extensive 
view of the town and the bay. There it was 
the wandering tourists toiled upward to 
drink tea and eat fruit, and as often as not 
pretty Lotus-San attended to their wants. 
And it so happened that on the day follow- 
ing the arrival of the red-funnel boat, two 
strangers presented themselves at Otoko’s 
orchard and begged permission to eat and 
drink. And Lotus-San, who was in 
attendance, brought them tea in quaint 
little cups without handles, out of which 
they drank with excellent Oriental gravity. 

She knew by their talk that the men were 


8 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

English, and but for a certain easy 
familiarity of manner might have been 
father and son. The one was young, tall, 
fresh of face and shapely of limb, which was 
displayed to full advantage in a knicker 
suit; the other was short, thick-set — the 
average middle-aged man with a beard. 

Of him Lotus-San thought little; but the 
younger man was exceedingly good to look 
upon. Though she had but stolen a 
maidenly glance at him, she carried away 
with her an impression of blue eyes and 
fair hair, and a smiling mouth that showed 
white teeth. And then, her eyes wandering 
towards the bay, they became riveted upon 
the ship with the red funnel, and of a 
sudden her hand went to her breast, and 
she felt a chill, like a revelation, at her 
heart. Strange — strange ; but as she 
watched she saw the ship climb the hill of 
sea once more, and again heard the 
ponderous cable rattle through the hawse- 
pipes. With a start she awoke from her 
dream. The strangers were calling. 


Lotus-San 


9 


Once more she stood before them, but 
this time she was no longer the musumtf, 
the waitress, but a woman with a secret, a 
secret ill-defined, no doubt, but to her one 
of much moment. At all events, it robbed 
her of her ease, brought the blushes to her 
face, and a fluttering to her heart. Though 
she never once turned her eyes towards the 
younger man, she felt the intensity of his 
gaze, just as one who lies upon the grass 
with shut eyes will feel the sun burning his 
eyelids. 

Neither spoke Japanese well, but the 
younger man, who knew least, talked most. 
But him Lotus-San ignored, and confined 
her remarks to the elderly gentleman with 
the beard. Elderly gentlemen with beards 
are so fatherly. Young men must be kept 
in their place. 

They wanted some cherries. Could she 
get them any? Decidedly. She would go 
at once and pluck them. 

“I will come and help you,” said the 
young man. 


io Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“Nonsense,” said his companion. 

Lotus-San bowed low and departed, but 
from out the corner of her eye she caught 
a glimpse of the admiring face of the 
young man. It was all very strange, this 
new sensation, these confused thoughts. 
Why should her heart palpitate so freely? 
Why should thought make her face and 
neck burn? 

As soon as she had disappeared the two 
men turned and interrogated each other 
with significant glances. The elder man 
had a pair of quizzing eyes, and as he looked 
at his companion he stroked his beard, an 
action which seemed to add a singularly 
penetrative force to his scrutiny. By the 
almost imperceptible smile which played 
about his face, it was evident that he was 
fairly well acquainted with the idiosyn- 
crasies of a certain young gentleman. 

“ Eh, Bob ? ” said the younger of the two, 
accompanying the exclamation with a nod 
towards the orchard. 

The beard wagged slowly. “Pooh!” 


Lotus-San 


1 1 

The young man sprang to his feet with 
a laugh. He had seen that beard wag 
before: it was not the first time he had 
heard that contemptuous “ Pooh.” Bob was 
a good sort, any way. Dear old Bob! 

“ I believe that silly girl has forgotten our 
cherries,” protested the young man. “I’d 
better go and hurry her up.” 

“I would if I were you,” replied the 
elder man drily. 

Again the beard w’agged, but this time 
unmarked by smiling eyes. The young 
man had taken his companion at his word. 
Having looked forward with no little 
pleasure to the fruit, he was not inclined 
to forego the sensation of tasting it. 

He discovered her in the far corner of 
the garden, perched upon an impromptu 
pedestal in the shape of a box, struggling 
hard to reach a cluster of delicious-looking* 
fruit. For some moments he stood watch- 
ing her vain efforts to clutch the bough: 
then with a smile he advanced. 

When she saw him she blushed still 


12 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

more deeply, and looked about her with a 
pretty timidity which appealed to the 
young man’s imagination. Beside the 
box lay her little straw sandals; the clean 
white tabi , or socks, which enclosed her 
feet, appeared to him but large enough for 
a child. Dainty little feet were hidden, he 
doubted not — feet as dainty as the rest of 
her dainty person. 

Seeing her embarrassment, and knowing 
the cause of it, he begged she would 
permit him to help her to descend from 
her precarious position. He held out his 
hands, and, after a momentary hesitation, 
she let him take hers. And here the 
adventure did not quite end, for as she 
leant forward his hands glided round her 
waist and she felt a pair of strong arms 
encompass her. Perhaps, but it might only 
have been her fancy, something in the 
nature of an embrace followed. At all 
events, it seemed to her that long after 
all danger was past he still held her close 
to him, and that his embrace was of a 


Lotus-San 


13 


singularly warm and protecting nature. 
Indeed, instinct bade her free herself, and 
she accordingly began to struggle. 

He was wise in experience, if not in 
years, and he at once apologised with a 
profound grace. The box was high, the 
position extremely dangerous. He would 
have been absolutely inconsolable had any 
harm befallen her. Poor Lotus-San! The 
harm was yet to come. 

Blushing and stammering charmingly, 
she succeeded, though not without some 
difficulty, in getting into her sandals, and 
that effort accomplished, she stood inde- 
cisive, knowing not whether to run or 
stay. But Fulkes, the foreign devil in 
question, was a young gentleman of some 
knowledge and perception. The recol- 
lection of that embrace had apparently 
vanished from his memory. It was a 
thing of the moment, unavoidable, but now 
forgotten. He did not even betray by a 
look the thought that was rioting in his 
mind. Timid as a fawn, this dainty little 


14 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

creature might have dashed off at the first 
signal of danger. 

“ Hold your kimono” he said. “ I will 
gather the fruit for you.” 

“But, excellency ” she protested. 

“Nay, nay, it is my wish, little flower. 
I am tall — see ! ” And he held his arms 
above her, and truly to her he seemed 
great and beautiful as a giant; and she 
thought how tenderly those great strong 
arms had enfolded her, and she wondered 
at his gentleness. 

But in the meantime he had sprung 
upon the box, and the fruit being well 
within his reach, he began to pluck it, and 
slowly to drop the cherries one by one into 
her kimono , which she had spread out for 
the occasion. And as each cherry fell he 
looked at her and smiled, and she, 
encouraged by the geniality of the white 
giant, smiled up at him again. 

But when the cherries were plucked 
he stood upon the box and thoughtfully 
regarded the quaint little figure beneath 


Lotus-San 


15 


him, and something very like the shades 
of irresolution chased each other across his 
face. Into his eyes crept a strange softness, 
and the curves of his mouth grew serious. 
And Lotus-San, who had watched him with 
an intentness which a vain man might have 
considered complimentary, let her eyes fall 
before his concentrated gaze. When she 
saw him again he was standing beside her; 
his blue eyes were sparkling with laughter, 
the serious curves had disappeared from his 
mouth. 

He gallantly escorted her back towards 
the house, where the middle-aged gentle- 
man with the beard had been left all this 
time in solitary state; but not more than 
half of the journey had been accomplished 
before the two came to a standstill. A gap 
in the garden disclosed a pretty view of the 
harbour below, and Fulkes, stopping for a 
moment, pointed towards the red-funnel 
boat. 

“ You see that ship, Lotus ? ” He had 
already learnt her name, and in a decorous 


1 6 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

manner had duly complimented her on its 
prettiness. 

“Yes,” she cried. See it! She had 
seen it day and night — waking, dreaming — 
ever since it first climbed that hill of sea 
to the southward. But she trembled, never- 
theless, at the question, and looked more 
like a lotus than ever. 

“ It arrived yesterday from Hong-Kong.” 

“ I know.” 

“ You know ? ” 

“ I was on the bluff. I watched it come up 
out of the sea, a strange monster belching 
clouds of smoke.” 

“ Curious,” he said. “ I was on board.” 

It was more curious than he imagined. 
Lotus-San’s underlip trembled, and her 
heart grew chill as with a deadly fear. If 
he had not been watching the bay so 
intently he might have noticed the sudden 
pallor overspread her face. As it was, she 
had somewhat regained her normal colour 
when he looked again. 

“ Yes,” he repeated, “ I was on board her. 


Lotus-San 


17 

It is rather strange that we should meet 
thus, Lotus-San.” 

Strange indeed; and yet she felt that it 
was not so very strange. Why, she could 
not say. Only it was not wonderful 
that she should meet some one who had 
come by that ship. 

“ She sails to-morrow for Yokohama 
direct,” he continued, the tone of his voice 
being well calculated to arouse one’s 
curiosity, even though the information was 
not of a paralysing nature. Yet the girl 
turned a white, eager face to him as she 
said — 

“ You go ? ” 

“I was going,” he said; “but since I 
have seen you, Lotus-San, I am not sure.” 

“Your excellency means ” 

“ That I have seen you, Lotus-San, and 
that I think heaven is nearer Nagasaki 
than Yokohama.” 

At* ^ 

^rv* *7^ Tv* *7v vv *7v* 

The middle-aged gentleman with the 
beard waited patiently for his cherries, 
c 


1 8 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

As Fulkes had said, or thought, Bob was 
a good sort, philosophically phlegmatic. 
The sun created a drowsy atmosphere, the 
cheroot burnt well, and the cane chair in 
which the philosopher stretched his com- 
fortable bulk bore him without complain- 
ing. But cigars will burn low, and dreams 
end, and too much green tea is not good 
for the digestion. Besides, even the 
patience born of philosophy, like all 
things human, flourishes but to die. Bob 
didn’t get excited, he didn’t even swear, 
but his patience gave out. With deep 
regret he dragged himself from the com- 
fortable recesses of the chair, stretched 
himself, yawned, looked at his watch, and 
then ventured out into the orchard. Those 
cherries must be getting cold, he thought. 

He discovered Fulkes and Lotus-San in 
one of the quietest and most delightful 
nooks of the garden. Their attitude did 
not surprise him. He knew Fulkes, he 
knew youth — he knew himself. There 
was not the slightest reason why the girl 


Lotus-San 


19 


should blush, and hang her head, and try 
to look ashamed. Her mother had done 
the same before, her own daughter would 
undoubtedly verify the truism that history 
repeats itself. There was nothing in it 
all — nothing. Why on earth should Fulkes 
look embarrassed ? This was painful — 
and serious. 

“ What about those cherries, Fulkes? ” 

“A thousand pardons, old chap,” cried 
the culprit, laughing just a little stupidly. 
“ But I believe we’ve eaten them all.” 

“Um!” was the grim reply. Then he 
looked at the girl. “ Bather pretty, 
Fulkes.” 

“Rather!” echoed the young man. 
“Why, she’s lovely! ” 

“Pooh!” said the philosopher. “Where 
are my cherries? ” 

* # # * # * * 

The red-funnel boat was to sail at day- 
break on the following morning, and that 
evening the philosopher discovered Fulkes 
going ashore with his baggage. 


20 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“ What’s this?” said he. 

“ I’m not going round to Yokohama 
just yet.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed the philosopher. 

“ Cherries ? ” 

“ No — not altogether. I find that I 
needn’t be back until the twelfth. The 
P. and 0 . boat will just fit in.” 

“ Um ! ” muttered the philosopher once 
again; “you’re a fool.” 

The young man smiled. Fool! Lord, 
it was heavenly fooling. 

When, on the following morning, he 
looked through the gap in Otoko’s 

orchard, the red-funnel boat was nowhere 

to be seen. He smiled complacently to 
himself, and then turned to greet Lotus-San, 
who came through the perfume of the 
orchard towards him, a new and wonderful 
light in her eyes. Presently he forgot all 
about the philosopher and the ship with 
the red funnel. 

The days passed merrily in Otoko’s 

orchard. The gardener himself was a 


Lotus-San 


21 


struggling man of business; his wife was 
a shrewd woman who loved the sight of 
money, who did not look askance at 
presents of silks and jewels. And this 
young foreigner was generous in the 
extreme, and Lotus-San was a dutiful 
daughter — one who fully recognised the 
obligations of filial piety. The wife of 
Otoko had visions of an age of ease. 

As for Fulkes, he took up his abode in 
Otoko’s house, and was received with all 
the honour which accompanies a big 
purse. It might be foolish or it might 
be wise — it all depends on the point of 
view. Fulkes took one view of the 
situation ; the gardener and his wife 
another. If each was satisfied, there is 
nothing more to be said. The Japanese 
loves money just as much as his Western 
brother. At any rate, the weather was 
delightful, the orchard was at its best, and 
Lotus-San seemed the loveliest flower there 
Fulkes passed whole days with her in the 
sweet-scented air. The sunshine and the 


22 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

odour of flowers crept into their blood, 
into their brain. Lotus-San awoke from 
the girl to the woman, and took unto 
herself a finer air, a fuller dignity. Yet 
she was as a child in his hands — a piece 
of clay ready to be moulded to his will. 
Of her he might make what he chose, 
whether for good or evil. The thought of 
such responsibility often made him pause. 
It deepened the furrow between his eyes: 
caused him many heart-searchings. 

He was but an ordinary man, she a native 
woman. In the Far East men do not set 
women on a pedestal and pretend to 
worship with fear and trembling. No doubt 
it is wrong of them, but they don’t. Fulkes 
had lightly entered into this compact, 
believing that he could as lightly break 
it off. But in a few days the girl had 
become a woman, and the woman serious. 
Intuitively he guessed that before he 
came her life had been a blank. He had 
filled it, opened wide her eyes, awakened 
the dormant soul. The sparkling of the 


Lotus-San 


2 3 


eyes, the glad flushings of the cheeks, the 
thousand-and-one things he noted, all told 
him what he had become to her. And his 
brow contracted still deeper in thought, and 
he was more than sorry that he had not 
gone on to Yokohama with the philosopher. 
It was always the same old tale — make love 
and ride away. 

But the parting was bitter — bitter as 
death. He hesitated long, fearing for 
her, liking not the task; but when it could 
no longer be avoided, he told her gently 
what had to be. Though she must have 
known that sooner or later it had to come, 
while it was yet in the distance it was but 
a vague, shadowy sort of terror. He had 
said, “ To-morrow I must leave you, 
Lotus-San/’ and that to-morrow descended 
instantly like a chilly cloud and smote upon 
her heart. She did not cry, but she hung 
cold and lifeless in his arms; and all his 
tender words, all his warm kisses, could 
not bring back the colour to those pallid 
cheeks. 


24 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“ It will be long before my lord returns ? ” 

“ Nay, I know not,” he answered 
falteringly. “ Perhaps.” 

“ But he will return — tell me, 0 my 
lord?” 

He could not tell her, even though he 
knew it would be the more honourable 
thing to do. He was sorry for her, and his 
sorrow made him weak. 

“ I will come back,” he said. 

The look of gratitude she turned upon 
him made him feel intensely his most 
miserable cowardice. He pressed her 
face close into his breast so as to hide 
her eyes. 

“My lord is good,” she murmured. “ I 
will wait.” 

“ It may be long, Lotus-San.” 

“What matters it? My lord has said 
he will come. I shall wait in night 
watching for the sun to burst. 

“ And should it never burst ? ” 

“ I shall know that my lord has gone to 


Lotus-San 


2 5 


the hakaba [cemetery], whither I shall 
quickly follow.” 

“But should I forget you, Lotus-San, 
what then ? ” 

Her frank eyes made him feel still more 
contemptible. 

“ How can my lord forget ? ” 

A£? At* At* 

W iW W if ^ ^ 

From the gap in her father’s orchard 
she saw, as one might see in a dream, her 
lover’s ship steal across the bay and out 
into the ocean, and yet she sat exactly in 
the spot where he had left her an hour 
before. The worst of the parting had taken 
place the previous day. A few hurried 
words, a kiss, and he was gone. In her lap 
he flung a big roll of bank-notes, also some 
jewelled pins for her hair, some trinkets for 
her wrists. “ It will soften the blow,” he 
said to himself. “She is sad now, poor 
little woman, but in a month I shall be 
forgotten.” But if he could have seen her 
sitting there, the jewels and the money 


JAPAN REFERENCE 
LIBRARY 

NEW YORK 



26 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

untouched, unnoticed, he might not have 
freed his conscience so easily. 

Some time after, the wife of Otoko found 
her daughter lying senseless by the gap, 
and beside her were the trinkets and the 
money, which the good mother secretly 
appropriated before attempting to restore 
consciousness to her daughter. Then 
Lotus-San was borne within doors, where 
she lay ill for many weeks, the ceaseless 
moan upon her poor, pale lips, “My lord, 
0 my lord! ” 

But he came not, and though youth 
triumphed, it left her but the wreck of 
her former self. “ She will die, 55 the 
people said; but she knew differently — if 
she could only see him. 

One after the other the days dragged 
painfully along. Each night she went to 
sleep with the half-expressed hope, “ To- 
morrow — perhaps to-morrow. 5 ’ It was 
always to-morrow — the day that never 
comes. Many and many an hour she 
filled the gap in her father’s orchard, 


Lotus-San 


27 


watching — a pitiful picture. One day she 
saw the red-funnel boat come in, but it 
brought no one for her. Nothing ever came 
for her. The world was a blank — dead. 

Other sorrow came to her when her people 
told her that she would mother a half-breed, 
and they taunted her, and made mock of 
her until life became unbearable. And 
yet, in a desperate sort of way, she was 
secretly glad. “ When he knows it, he will 
come, 55 she said to herself. “ It is mine — 
and his! Ours, all ours! 0 my lord! ” 

But he came not. 

One day a man from the British 
Consulate presented himself before her. 

“ You are Lotus-San/’ he said, “ the 
daughter of Otoko ? ” 

“ Yes, excellency.” 

He pressed a roll of bank-notes into her 
hand. She drew back astounded. 

“ Excellency ! ” 

“ It is from him,” he said. “ He has 
not forgotten.” 


28 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

Her poor face flushed vividly. A cry 
of exultation sprang from her lips. 

“He is coming?” 

The man’s face fell. 

“I cannot say. Perhaps.” 

It was always that dreadful word — 
“ Perhaps.” 

“He is dead?” 

The pitiful look of anguish smote him 
to the heart; yet, sad as it was, he almost 
wished he could have answered in the 
affirmative. 

“I know not. Only this I know — he 
will come no more to Japan.” 

She was not certain that she heard 
aright, or that she rightly understood. 
And though long after he had gone she 
still pondered over his words, she could 
only distinctly recollect that last utterance 
— “ He will come no more to Japan.” It 
beat into her brain, it chilled her heart, it 
filled the world with darkness. He would 
come no more ! Never again should she 
glow in the sunshine of his smile, feel the 


Lotus-San 


29 


touch of that dear arm about her shoulders, 
listen to the loved accents of his voice! 
All was past — all was gone. There was 
no sun in heaven, no light in the world; 
life had died with him. For since he would 
come no more, he must be dead, as nothing 
but death could keep him from her. And 
so she brooded over the thought until it 
became a reality, and his sad, pale face 
looked up at her through the infinite 
depths of sea. 

Once more she stood upon the headland 
that guards the entrance to the Bay of 
Nagasaki, and looked away to seaward; 
but this time no ship with a red funnel 
broke the perfect line of blue. All was still 
and calm, and as she looked down into the 
sea the old vision came back to her, and 
the sad, pale face of her beloved seemed to 
beckon her to him. 

“I come,” she said. “I have waited 
long, 0 my lord, and life has been 
heavy and void of light. But the night is 


30 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

past, the day is come. Open wide your 
arms, my beloved. We are coming — we are 
coming ” 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

The startled seagull gave a hoarse caw 
as it beheld the body of Lotus-San cleave 
the still waters. 


HINA-SAN 


There's a voice in vale and wood , 
Hina-San ; 

A sweet voice in every flood , 
Hina-San. 

There's a note that never jars 
'Mid the tinkling of guitars , 

And the music of the stars , 
Hina-San. 

Shall you e'er forget the day , 
Hina-San , 

When we wandered hy the bay, 
Hina-San — 

Nagasaki's Bay so sweet 
Where the wave and blossoms meet — 
And the stranger at your feet ? — 
Hina-San. 

Oh, like us the day was young, 
Hina-San ; 

There was honey on your tongue, 
Hina-San ; 

And I marked your bosom's rise 
' Neath the ardour of sweet sighs , 

For the love was in your eyes , 
Hina-San. 

But the dream has passed away, 
Hina-San, 

And there dawns a duller day, 
Hina-San ; 

Yet I often think, my dear, 

If you listen you may hear 
That low voice which calls so clear, 
Hina-San. 






































































































































• - 













































































































































































































































THE MUSUME 


That there was a considerable strain of 
European blood in Asuma-San no one could 
doubt who saw her. It showed itself in the 
grey tinge of the eyes, the comparatively 
straight features, the delicacy of her com- 
plexion, and the glossy brown hair which 
she strove to spoil by parting and pounding 
in the most approved native fashion. Yet 
no blundering vanity could entirely rob of 
their charm those rich brown masses, and, 
judging from the way Asuma-San decorated 
them with pretty pins of coral and mother- 
of-pearl, • it was evident that in her own 
peculiar manner she was not without some 
knowledge of their exceeding beauty. 

She was certainly a handsome girl, with 
a beauty peculiar to the half-breed of the 
Par East. The yellow, after all, is but a 

D 


34 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

darker shade of white, and some surprising 
results are often obtained through a 
judicious mixture of the blood; surprising, 
that is, from the physical standpoint; the 
moral side of the question, the injudicious 
mixing of the vices of two nations, had 
better be passed over in silence. 

Asuma-San had not a few physical gifts 
which were sure to attract the admiration 
of many, and the attention of all. She 
was tall, supple, and exceedingly graceful; 
her mouth was red and full, and when she 
laughed she showed two dazzling rows of 
teeth. Her cotton kimono , with its mon- 
strous designs, became her like a royal robe. 
There was a grace, a dignity in the figure 
which no poverty of dress could conceal. 

And yet she was merely a musumtf, a 
waitress, at Ninko’s famous tea-house in 
Hiogo ; a place much frequented by the 
better-class foreign residents of the adjacent 
Kobe, and also by many of the surrounding 
native gentry. Ninko himself, a foxy little 
man with wicked eyes, was supposed, by 


The Musume 


35 


many nefarious methods, rapidly to be 
making a fortune. At all events, his house 
was decidedly the best patronised of any 
in the town; and if that wasn’t attraction 
enough for you, a few yen extra would 
procure a most delightful exposition of the 
kina — a dance much appreciated by 
visitors and the foreign residents. For 
Ninko’s girls were even more famous than 
Ninko himself, and while the girls laughed 
and posed, Ninko’s purse waxed fat. 

I’ll never forget the first day I saw 
Asuma-San. Moulmaine had called round 
at my office with some work which had 
kept us busy until close upon five o’clock. 
Then, thinking we had earned a little 
relaxation, we jumped into our rickshaws 
and told the boys to run us out of the 
town. Instinctively they turned in the 
direction of Hiogo, and just as instinctively 
they drew up before the door of Ninko’s 
tea-house. I am at a loss to know why it 
should be so, but unless I gave my boy a 
distinct order, I invariably found myself 


36 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

being whirled in the direction of the 
famous chaya. 

The accustomed stir and bustle, con- 
sequent upon the advent of strangers, 
followed our arrival. Some of the girls 
came out on the verandah, others crowded 
to the wide, open windows. Asuma-San 
bowed us in at the door. At first I paid 
little heed to her, my attention being fixed 
elsewhere; but when I turned to address 
Moulmaine I was startled at the surprised 
look of admiration which had spread 
over his face. My eyes, immediately 
following his, encountered the glance of 
the new girl, Asuma-San. 

I regret to add, but common honesty 
forces the confession from me, that I 
received almost as great a shock as he ; but 
I had not his susceptible nature, and did 
not retain an impression of things which 
were decidedly to my disadvantage. Yet 
not alone was the girl exceedingly hand- 
some, but I saw at a glance that she was a 
half-breed ; and, little as I admire the 


The Musume 


37 


native, I admit that there is a fascination 
about the half-breed Jap or Chow, when of 
the feminine gender, which altogether defies 
analysis. 

“I wonder where she came from?” said 
he. 

“ The stars. They all do.” 

“ No, Osman ; no larks. Have you seen 
her before ? ” 

“ Never ” 

We sat inside against the open window, 
and Asuma-San brought us the tea in little 
transparent cups of quaint design ; and 
Moulmaine insisted upon her drinking 
with us, and when he paid I saw him slip 
a silver yen into her little pink palm. Her 
eyes shone brightly as she made a humble 
obeisance, and with trembling fingers she 
hid the coin in her broad sash. Moulmaine, 
who was usually a man of the utmost 
prudence, and one not prone to cheapen 
himself, sought to persuade her to sit upon 
his knee; but even Ninko’s girls were, 
occasionally, not without an assumption of 


Rose and Chrysanthemum 


modesty, and with a deprecating shake of 
the head she toddled off. 

“Well, Osman,” said he, “what do you 
think of that ? ” 

There was a gloating tone of triumph in 
his voice which I thought it advisable to 
check. 

“ Admirable,” I answered slowly, “ for a 
half-caste.” 

“Half-caste or no,” he replied enthusi- 
astically, “ she’s the handsomest girl I’ve 
ever seen. I should like to know who she 
is.” 

“ Much better rest content with what 
she is.” 

“ You’re a beastly old cynic,” said he. 

“ My dear fellow, I am just what the 
world has made me.” 

“ Oh, yes, I know your sort,” he 
laughed. “ You indulge your own evil 
propensities, and then blame the world. 
But that will not do, Osman. I have never 
yet blindly followed precedent, and I don’t 
intend to begin now. Heavens! would you 
have a man without a mind of his own ? ” 


The Musume 


39 


“There are some things in which it is 
better for a man not to have a mind of 
his own” 

“Would you have your friend such a 
poor creature ? ” 

“ I would have him wise, Moulmaine.” 

“And your wisdom consists of a blind 
obedience ? ” 

“ Not in all things. But it is just 
possible that wuse men have marked a path 
which we fools may follow with safety.” 

“ Any way,” he said, “ the world shall not 
fashion me.” 

“Obstinacy, my dear Moulmaine, is not 
stronger than argument. The world will 
fashion you just as it has fashioned me. 
Are you a creator, think you ? ” 

“ To this extent — that I can create 
sufficient for my own needs.” 

“ Impossible. You would not be con- 
tent with your creation forty-eight hours. 
And I will go further. I will say that not 
alone can you not create sufficient for your 


40 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

needs, but that you are not great enough to 
destroy one little convention.” 

“ I can at least defy it .” 

“ Madness. One may defy God with 
impunity, but one dare not defy a social 
convention.” 

“ If you preach like this, Osman,” said he, 
rising, “ I shall have to seek out my half- 
caste in self-defence. She, at all events, will 
not bore.” 

“ My dear fellow, you never heard me 
censure you for doing a wise thing. By all 
means seek out your half-caste. I rather 
admire your taste. In fact, I J m not certain 
that I shan’t try to cut you out.” 

He went off laughing, and I strolled out 
on to the verandah and lit a cheroot. 
Ninko’s verandah was deep and cool, and 
Ninko’s girls were exceedingly attractive; 
but all the same, Moulmaine’s absence 
began to look serious, the more so as he 
was a good, sober fellow, and of an age that 
reasons. But it was this very soberness, or 
deadly earnestness of the man’s nature, 


The Musume 


4i 


which caused me the most alarm. If he 
made up his mind to do a thing, I knew he 
would do it in spite of the most strenuous 
opposition. There was a rigid, puritanical 
justness and independence about the man 
which often brought him in conflict with 
the world’s cherished traditions. Ostensibly 
he was no whit better than his fellows; 
and yet, if one took the trouble to dig 
beneath the surface, there would be found 
a vein of pure gold which would amply 
repay one for the toil. 

Moulmaine, being a reasonable man, 
ought to have known better. A boy fresh 
out from home, charmed by the novelty of 
his surroundings, cannot be expected to 
think. With net outstretched he chases 
the dainty butterfly, desperately zealous. 
But Moulmaine was a man, and a man 
who looked upon life seriously, and regarded 
the problems of the future with a good deal 
of reverential awe. Dozens of times we had 
been to Ninko’s together, yet never had I 
known him act so erratically. But I must 


42 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

in fairness admit that never had he met 
such a girl as Asuma-San. 

At last he returned, looking half -ashamed 
of himself, and yet half-defiant; but as he 
took my chaffing inquiries rather unpleas- 
antly, and as I knew his sense of humour 
was not abnormally developed, I instantly 
desisted. Then I proposed that we should 
go, a proposal to which he acquiesced by 
simply nodding. Clearly Moulmaine was 
not himself at all. I had seen many a 
fellow serious in the pursuit of a musum 6 t 
but I had never heard of one who had been 
allowed to die of apprehension. Moulmaine 
was different, or at least he was serious 
in another way. 

I had invariably found him at the club 
every afternoon between five and six, but 
for quite a week after our visit to Ninko’s 
I saw neither sight nor sign of him. For 
the first two or three days I thought 
nothing of this, taking it for granted that 
a sudden rush of business had kept him 
awav. But as the days ran into a vreek. 


The Musume 


43 


I instituted inquiries among the servants, 
and to my amazement I learnt that he had 
not been near the club during the whole 
of that period. Then I feared that he 
must be ill, for I could not otherwise 
explain an absence so unusual. I there- 
fore hastened round to his office, and to 
my inquiry if Mr. Moulmaine was in, 
learnt that he had just gone out. 

“Then he is not ill?” said I. 

“No, sir.” 

“ Curious. I thought he must have 
been” 

I spoke like one speaking to oneself; 
but the clerk, a promising young Jap, 
answered with an odd shake of the head, 
“ No, sir, he is not ill.” But he looked 
something more, and his tone was full of 
meaning. 

I saw that the rascal wanted to speak, 
but I had no intention of discussing with 
him his master’s secrets; so I told him to 
let his master know that I had called, and 
that I had something of importance to 


44 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

communicate, which was not a fact; but 
in a way I wished to justify my solicitude. 

Unfortunately, this statement seemed 
to be the very thing for which the clerk 
was waiting. 

“ If it is very important,” he said, “ the 
master will be found at Ninko’s.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” said I, professing to be 
highly gratified with this surprising piece 
of intelligence. “ Are you sure ? ” 

“ The master is always at Ninko’s,” was 
the reply. 

This was serious. I had ahnost forgotten 
Asuma-San and my friend’s admiration for 
her. Curiously enough, if I had thought 
of it at all, I had judged him from my own 
level. But I had been greatly mistaken. 
The steady, sober-sided Moulmaine had 
evidently fallen in love with the musumtf. 
Fortunately such love was not serious, and 
Asuma-San was worthy of some attention; 
though I often doubt the wisdom of that 
man who teaches a woman her worth. 

Though it was getting rather late, I 


The Musume 


45 


jumped into my rickshaw and ran out to 
Ninko’s, and there, in the garden at the 
back of the house, I discovered the 
delinquent Moulmaine with the girl Asuma- 
San. As I appeared before them she 
started, uttered a little cry, and would have 
run away; but he held her fast by the 
hand, and even drew her to him and flung 
his arm about her shoulders. 

“So this is it,” I cried. “I thought 
you were very ill.” 

“ So I have been, old chap ; but, thank 
God, Tm better now.” 

Truly I had always regarded him as the 
possessor of an odd personality; but I 
thought it highly incongruous to use God’s 
name in connection with an affair of this 
nature. It implied a justification, and 
looked more serious and solemn than I 
liked. 

“ Why do you thank God ? ” said I. 

“ Because He has helped me to be a 
man.” 

I looked at the woman, and some very 


46 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

different thoughts entered my head. Still, 
many a decent fellow has gone to the devil 
under the mistaken impression that he is 
being a man. I could be lenient, for I 
had known something of the feeling; but, 
thank heaven, I had never let it wholly 
conquer my innate selfishness. 

His treatment of the girl was inex- 
pressibly tender; so different from any- 
thing I had ever seen under like conditions 
that I was perfectly amazed. His face 
actually seemed to beam as he looked at 
her, and a light no sinner could possibly 
comprehend shone in his eyes. It was a 
look full of infatuated folly, or reverence — 
I could not say which. The man was 
blindly, idiotically, in love. 

But the woman, even as she nestled to 
him, seemed uncomfortable, and stole at me 
strange, inquiring glances from mistrustful 
eyes. To my thinking they were cold, 
calculating eyes without any depth of soul, 
and I wondered how Moulmaine could not 
see it — until I recollected the proverbial 


The Musume 


47 


blindness of love. I believe she followed 
pretty closely the thoughts that were 
running in my mind, and from the 
frequent flashes of suspicion with which she 
regarded me I knew she doubted my friend- 
ship. Nor was she far wrong, if, as I 
imagined, she had some interested motive 
in view. 

Moulmaine and I left the tea-house 
together, I very considerately allowing 
him a long five minutes with his beloved. 
As the night was fine, I suggested that we 
should walk, for I had something on my 
mind and wished to get rid of it. The 
suggestion he welcomed, which was good: 
then we set out, our rickshaw coolies 
following some distance behind. 

I at once, assuming the prerogative of 
an old friend, which is not always wise, 
attacked him on his desertion of the club 
and the frequency of his visits to Ninko’s, 
and as he stammered somewhat inconsis- 
tently in his reply, I boldly broached the 
subject of Asuma-San, and in a way that 


48 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

must have been anything but agreeable to 
him. He stood my badinage well enough, 
but when I spoke seriously of the 
indifferent fame of Asuma-San and her 
class, he stopped me. 

“You take too much for granted/’ he 
said. “ I believe that Asuma-San is a good 
girl.” 

“ You always were one of those humbugs 
who profess to see good in everything.” 

“ And if I thought you half the callous, 
selfish brute you pretend to be, do you 
suppose I would still call you my friend? 
Do you remember, about three years ago, 
when a certain Moulmaine lay sick unto 
death with fever ? His friends forsook 
him ; the doctor, even, was afraid of 
catching the infection. But there was a 
surly, growling old bear called Osman, 
who was mother, friend, doctor, all in 
one.” And he laid his hand lovingly on 
my shoulder. “ No, no, don’t speak ! 
Let me remember, Osman.” 

“ Rubbish ! ” I replied, though that 


The Musume 


49 


loving hand on the shoulder had brought 
the cursed tears close to my eyes. “ That 
was nothing. This is serious 

“ Very serious/' he answered solemnly. 

I was startled. What the deuce did he 
mean by taking such a solemn tone ? 

“I thought I knew you, Moulmaine; 
but I am not so certain of it now. What 
do you mean ? ” 

“ Merely this, my dear Osman, I'm 
going to back my faith." 

“ In what way ? " 

“I am going to make Asuma-San my 
wife." 

“ Of course ; and a very pretty wife 
she’ll make." 

“You are mistaken, Osman," he replied, 
with a quiet earnestness which was highly 
effective. “ I am going to marry her." 

“I hope you are going to do nothing of 
the kind." 

“ I think so, nevertheless." 

“You are serious, Moulmaine?" 

Though I put the question, I had little 


50 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

doubt of the genuineness of his declaration. 
And he was just the man to put it into 
effect. 

“As death” 

“ Then God help you.” 

“ I believe He will.” 

We walked on and on through the night, 
and in the fulness of my anxiety I used 
every argument of which I w^as master to 
dissuade him from committing such a 
deadly piece of folly; but all my thunder- 
bolts were shattered against the impreg- 
nable rock of his belief. Once only did I 
think he was wavering, and that was when 
he condescended to admit that Asuma-San 
was not altogether a native ; but he 
repented of the weakness almost imme- 
diately after, and protested that, even if 
she were, it would make no difference. I 
could not tell him that it was better for a 
woman to have the failings of one nation 
than the vices of two. 

I am prepared to admit that to him my 
argument must have sounded detestable. 


The Musume 


5i 


Yet I spoke the truth — cruel and selfish as 
it was — the truth gained from bitter experi- 
ence. Philanthropy is a good thing in its 
way, and there is something infinitely 
noble in the abstract theory of the universal 
brotherhood of man ; but resolve that 
theory to its elements, or put it to practical 
use, and its inherent folly is colossal. But 
Moulmaine had faith, that faith which 
levels mountains. And was he so much less 
fortunate than I ? 

The next thing I heard was that he had 
married Asuma-San, and that he had set 
up housekeeping in a neat little bungalow 
on the hill at the back of the town. 
During the next month or so I accidentally 
met him once or twice, and from his manner 
I judged that he had not quite forgotten my 
plain-speaking. However, the deed was 
done and I had had my say, so I merely 
referred in the most casual way to his 
marriage, quickly perceiving that this was 
a subject which permitted of no trifling. 
Nor did I refer to his desertion of the club, 


52 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

or the dropping of old friends. Things, no 
doubt, would right themselves in their 
own good time. 

Then one evening he called on me and 
took me up to his house to dinner, and 
once again I saw Asuma-San, now grown 
stately with the dignity of her new life. 
And very beautiful she looked, and in a way 
I thought Moulmaine was a lucky beggar; 
but she was a native, a native body and 
soul, and nothing could alter that. Out of 
deference to him she had pounded less fat 
into her hair, but she still wore the national 
kimono , while nothing could persuade her 
to wear shoes and stockings. In fact, at 
heart she was still the musumtf of Ninko’s 
tea-house, and I had no doubt that she 
would willingly have exchanged all her 
solitary splendour for the tinkle of the 
samisen , and the laughter and the life. 

She received me with chilling coldness, 
but that I looked upon as a matter of course, 
for I had been anything but a friend to her. 
Still I tried my best to be civil, remembering 


The Musume 


53 


her altered condition, and treated her with 
a consideration which should have rendered 
her more amicable. But I saw that she 
neither forgot nor forgave, and she went 
about with a childish pout on her lips, or 
sat silent and sullen. 

As I shook hands with Moulmaine at 
parting, I said, “ You are happy, old 
fellow ? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

But there was a tone in his voice that 
did not please me. It was too assertive to 
be convincing. 

Though we did not meet again for many 
weeks, his neglect did not anger me. I 
knew that when he wanted me he would 
come. Then one day, as I was walking 
towards Ninko’s, I stepped aside to make 
room for a rickshaw which came dashing 
through the narrow street. Curiosity 
prompting me to turn round, I caught a 
hurried glimpse of Mouhnaine as he flashed 
by. I saluted, but he did not seem to see 
me, though his eyes were apparently staring 


54 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

straight into mine. Mad eyes they were, 
full of rage and horror. I called to him, 
but he did not heed me. Then a turn in 
the street hid the flying vehicle. 

I passed on full of strange conjecture, 
wondering, fearing. That something dread- 
ful had happened was obvious ; that 
something dreadful would happen was 
equally certain. His face haunted me; I 
could not close my eyes upon the livid 
picture. 

Some eight or ten minutes later I met 
him again. This time his wife was in the 
rickshaw with him. His face was still 
deadly pale ; but hers was black and sulky, 
and most evil and ugly in its anger. I 
guessed in a moment what it meant. He 
had been to Ninko’s to fetch her home. 

With something more to think about I 
continued my way to the tea-house; but 
though I carefully inquired I could learn 
nothing. Ninko was a clever man, and his 
chaya was always beyond reproach. 

One night, a week or so after this, just 


The Musume 


55 


as I was thinking of going to bed, there 
came a great rapping at my door, and 
when I opened it, in rushed Moulmaine in 
a fearful state of excitement. His face 
was more hideously pale than ever, his 
eyes glared wildly ; he was without hat, 
coat, or collar. He never spoke, but with 
a moan sank into a chair. Quickly I 
mixed him some whisky-and-water, which 
he gulped in a way that nearly choked 
him. Then, slowly regaining his breath, 
he looked up at me and in a hoarse voice 
gasped, “I’ve done it, Osman.” 

“ Done what?” 

“Killed her!” 

Something cold smote my heart and 
sent the shivers flying through me. But I 
would not understand. 

“Killed whom?” I cried. 

“ My wife — Asuma-San.” 

“ Man, you are mad! ” 

“ Not a bit of it,” and he arose, laughing 
diabolically. I backed away. “ I was mad, 


56 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

Osman,” he went on, still laughing like 
one who enjoys a pleasant memory; “but 
the madness has' worn off, I tell you, you 
son-of-a-gun, the madness has worn off,” 
and he brought his hand down with a 
murderous clap upon my shoulder. “ I am 
sane now, old cynic, and see with clear eyes. 
But you understand, I wanted to do the 
right thing. I tried to bribe heaven with a 
monstrous bribe. God would have none of 
it.” 

“ Calm yourself,” I cried, “ and tell me 
what has happened.” 

“You know how I loved her, Osman — 
what I did for her? Had she possessed 
but one little virtue she would at least 
have pitied me. But one cannot gather 
grapes from thorns. Though I had long 
known her for what she was, I still tried 
to deceive myself. The musume was 
always the musum The poison of 
Ninko’s den was in her blood; the smell 
of the place was as the breath of life 


The Musume 


57 


to her. So she went there day after day, 
until at last I heard of it. Then I 
followed her, and brought her forth, 
and she sobbed and begged hard to be 
forgiven; and remembering what she was, 
I pardoned her. But she had tasted of 
the vileness once again, and neither threat 
nor fear could check her. And then, I 
know not exactly how it came about, but 
we quarrelled deeply, furiously, and my 
hands found their way to her throat, and 
presently I was staring into the vacant eyes 
of a dead woman.” 

This was the mad story he poured into 
my ears, and when he had finished he 
drank deeply of the whisky and laughed at 
my troubled face. 

“Yes, I know,” he said, “I have com- 
mitted murder; but I also know that it is 
justified of God, no matter what man may 
say.” 

He would not sit down, he would not 
stay; and when I tried a little gentle per- 
suasion he shook me off with a savage 


58 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

oath, flung open the door, and passed out 
into the night. 

His body was found next morning in the 
little garden at the back of his own 
bungalow. A revolver with one empty 
chamber lay beside him. 


TOKIO 


When the musia of the samisen was ringing. 

And the voices rose and fell in cadence low ; 

And the luscious moonlit hours were swiftly winging , — 
Just as hours the most delightful seem to go; 

Like a being of enchantment did she wend her 

Way , before me * twixt the moonlight and the trees: 

Glossy hair, and laughing eyes, and figure slender, 
Redolent of love and all its mysteries. 

In the chaya, there behind us, there was singing, 

Lancing geisha, tinkling samisen, and wine; 

And the laughter of glad voices came a-ringing 

Through the night that she and love had made divine. 

But we heeded not the laughter nor the chorus, 

Heard no music but the music of sweet sighs; 

For the glory of the night was all before us, 

And the present is the kingdom of the wise. 
***** 

Dreams that come and dreams that go, forever changing, 
Till the very earth itself shall pass away ; 

And we mortals through our little orbit ranging, 

Play our part, and then have finished with the play. 

Have we finished? Who shall say ? In the hereafter , 
When behind life's dim horizon sinks the sun, 

Shall our follies, and our maskings, and our laughter, 
Weigh the balance \ gainst the good that we have done? 



' 












































AT THE SHRINE OF SHINTO 

Hanu-San knelt before the great Shinto 
shrine and prayed to the Master-of-the- 
Angust-Centre-of-Heaven. Pain had been 
hers, pain wrought of the deep anguish of 
bitter thoughts, and her soul was full of 
sorrow and her eyes were shaded with 
melancholy. For she had reached that age 
when maidens wed, and her beauty had 
found favour in the eyes of Sakata — 
Sakata of the hundred junks and many 
houses ; and he had dreamed of her, and his 
dreams had filled his brain with restlessness 
and his heart with a great desire. 

Being rich, he had the courage of riches. 
It mattered nothing that he was old, that 
his limbs were shrunken, that his lips were 
blue, that his little black eyes were lost 
behind innumerable yellow wrinkles. He 


62 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

counted his yen by the thousand; he was 
lord of a hundred junks, of many people. 
Those who did not love him bowed low in 
his" presence; deep salutations greeted him 
as he passed along the street. “ There goes 
the honourable Sakata,” the people would 
whisper one to the other, “he who fills 
many mouths.” And in this lay the cause of 
all reverence : “ He who fills many mouths.” 
His faults were many, his person unlovely, 
his manners uncouth. Of him tales had 
been told which reflected little credit on 
humanity. They said he had no heart, no 
feeling ; that when he died one more spirit- 
wolf would join the spectral band which 
haunted the mountain recesses. But they 
said these things in whispers, for Sakata 
was a man with whom no one dared to 
trifle. 

Of him, then, Hanu-San thought as she 
knelt before the shrine, and in her dumb, 
dull way called the gods to her aid. Not 
that she was wholly without fear of the 
eificacy of prayer. Her mother had said, 


At the Shrine of Shinto 


63 


“ It is time that thou shouldst wed and 
rear sons to the glory of thy lord. The 
honourable Sakata hath exceeded con- 
descension in casting his august eyes on 
our contemptible offspring. The gods 
are truly blessing the house of Naku, the 
compradore.” Her father had added, 
“Worthless though we be, and as dirt in 
the eyes of the gods, yet are we singled 
out for this great happiness. The 
honourable Sakata is the lord of a 
hundred junks.” 

“ Ay,” echoed his wife, “ and of a 
hundred houses as well.” 

And Hanu-San knew that here the gods 
themselves were of no avail. They, as 
she, were powerless against a hundred 
junks. The halo that surrounded Sakata 
no cloud could diminish. 

And yet she knelt and prayed, but with 
a doubting soul. Your Oriental is more 
or less of a fatalist, and what the gods 
have once written they will in no wise 
blot out. Moreover, it was the wish of 


6\ Rose and Chrysanthemum 

her honourable parents, and to thwart that 
wish would have been a crime beyond all 
pardon. If there is any religion in Japan 
it is that o£ filial obedience — obedience, 
first of all, to the Emperor, by whose ex- 
ceeding magnanimity one lives, for whom 
it would be a pleasure and an honour to 
die ; then comes obedience to one’s parents, 
and, when one marries, the reverence of 
the mother-in-law. Fortunately, and in 
this Hanu-San discovered some consola- 
tion, Sakata had buried his honourable 
mother some twenty years before. 

She knew that it was sinful, this appeal 
to the gods in opposition to the wishes of 
her parents; but her mind was beginning 
to expand, and life was presenting its 
right and its wrong side, and she 
thought of what ought to be and what 
was. And a long dwelling on what was 
kindled the smouldering embers of 
rebellion, and all else failing, she appealed 
to the infinite justice of the gods. But the 
ways of the divine ones were ever in- 


At the Shrine of Shinto 65 

scrutable, and even as she prayed she 
knew it was a futile thing she asked, and 
her selfish and unfilial conduct filled her 
with shame and apprehension. Her duty 
was clear, her obedience to the parental 
wishes assured. How could the gods 
look with benign eyes upon one whose 
soul was charged with angry and 
rebellious thoughts ? She would claim 
pardon; she would fulfil the wishes of her 
parents, even to entering the arms of 
Sakata, the lord of a hundred junks. She 
would 

Here she raised her head, her heart 
throbbing with a new and noble resolution, 
and, behold! her eyes fell upon the figure 
of a man who stood back some little way, 
regarding her intently. At first, owing to 
a quick, uncertain glance, she thought the 
figure was one of the priests from the 
adjacent temple, and for fear of incurring 
his displeasure she made a pretence of 
continuing her devotions; but the man’s 
form came between her and the gods, and 

F 


66 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

in a way he seemed to read her thoughts, 
and she trembled like a child who is 
suddenly discovered in mischief. 

Intuitively, for she had not the courage 
to look, she felt the presence draw near, 
and the strange throbbing of her pulses 
told her that it was no priest. In fact, she 
knew it now, even by that timid glance, in 
which he was seen silhouetted as some- 
thing dark and big against the sky. Her 
imagination carried her even farther than 
that. Was he of her country? 

She tried to think, but her brain whirled 
confusedly. Lower she bowed her head; 
she sought to interpose between her and 
this stranger the faces of the gods, those 
vague, mysterious deities who lived in 
clouds and rode upon the typhoons ; but the 
effort proved unavailing. The gods were 
but shadowy substances at best : this 
stranger was a tangible reality. 

Then she became conscious of the fact 
that a voice was whispering softly in her 
ear, and at first she scarcely knew if the 


At the Shrine of Shinto 


67 


accents were human or divine; but her 
agitation quickly passing, she recognised 
the commonplace words of everyday greet- 
ing uttered with a foreign tongue. 

Her agitation was, if possible, even 
more profound; but it was of an entirely 
different nature. Hitherto she had been 
subdued by the strength of her spiritual 
aspirations ; she had wandered in the 
realms of imagination, had trodden the 
borderland of the unknown, and her steps 
had been slow and her feet had faltered; 
but this voice and this presence recalled 
her to earth, and with a pretty show of 
confusion she began to scramble to her 
feet. Then it was, almost unknown to 
her, a hand grasped hers, and her burning 
palm slipped into his — so cool, so steady. 

“Do not be alarmed,” he said, a deep 
sincerity in every tone of his voice; for he 
saw her terror, and he had had some experi- 
ence of the timidity of these strange little 
creatures. “ I assure you there is nothing 


68 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

to be afraid of. I am merely a stranger who 
has come to s.ee — who has come to learn.” 

He dropped her hand as he spoke, and 
she, feeling herself at liberty, had a great 
inclination to dash away from this 
presumptuous stranger with the soft voice, 
who stumbled so charmingly with her 
language. But her dignity and better 
sense came to the rescue ; perhaps her 
feminine curiosity had not a little to do 
with the determination. Perhaps, also, 
the gods, who worked in a way unknown 
to mortals, had not turned a deaf ear to 
her prayers. Perhaps — but her soul almost 
sickened with terror at the awful, the 
sacrilegious thought — perhaps the god 
himself, the Master-of-the-August-Centre- 
of-Heaven, had 

With a strange throbbing of the breast 
she raised her eyes slowly from the 
ground, whereon was firmly planted a pair 
of white boots, and as her glance began 
slowly to ascend the legs of the deity, she 
thought they were monstrous long, and 


At the Shrine of Shinto 


69 


totally unlike those of the men of her own 
race. But even as she thought, her glance 
continued its upward course, and presently 
she was looking into a pair of earnest 
eyes, the colour of which seemed to have 
been stolen direct from the farthest blue of 
the ocean. 

The face was fair, white as she had 
dreamed the face of a god should be, and 
the thick golden hair fringed it as with an 
aureole. Amazement sat upon her face: 
indecision flickered across it in little hurry- 
ing waves of shadow and shine. Conscious 
of this unprecedented encounter, and of the 
proper behaviour of young ladies under such 
conditions, she hesitated to leave, impelled 
thus to defy the laws of decorum by a 
power which she felt acutely, but which she 
was utterly unable to analyse. And he saw 
her irresolution, and the smile deepened in 
his eyes and brightened his whole face, 
and in a vague way Hanu-San thought of 
the sun sinking in the sea. 

He stumbled atrociously with the 


70 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

language as he attempted to propitiate 
her, to still her fears; but she found his 
strange phrasing and mispronunciation 
delightfully quaint and fresh, and she 
would not have had him speak in any 
other fashion for the world. Moreover, 
she discovered, after the first shock of 
nervousness had passed away, and she 
could listen with something like tranquillity, 
that he was English, and she delighted 
him, in reply to one of his questions, by 
answering him in his native tongue. For 
was she not the daughter of Naku, the 
compradore, he who traded with , the 
English, who spoke their language with 
fluency? And had she not wished to 
know something of these people of the 
West, and striven to learn that language 
which everyone seemed to speak? 

Castleton, the voyager in question, was 
overjoyed at the discovery, and henceforth 
eschewed all attempts to make himself 
understood in Japanese. It is enough for 
the Englishman that other people should 


At the Shrine* of Shinto 71 

struggle with his language ; he never 
discloses any great inclination to battle 
with theirs. When Hanu-San fought 
valiantly with a word he came to her 
rescue; but her pretty struggles pleased 
him infinitely, and he was cruel enough to 
prolong her exquisite agony to the full. 

Once her restraint had worn off she 
prattled glibly in an odd mixture of 
English and Japanese. She would begin 
solemnly enough with the foreign language, 
but she invariably finished at express speed 
in her native tongue. And though he did 
not thoroughly understand her, he learnt 
that she was the daughter of Naku, the 
compradore, he who provided the victuals 
for the great English ships. As he had 
never heard of the honourable Naku, the 
information contained nothing of much 
importance. The chief point was that she 
was somebody’s daughter. 

He looked at the quaint little doll-like 
figure, and even through her loose kimono 
saw the budding girl was blossoming into 


72 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

the rose of woman. Perhaps she was not 
entirely pretty — he had never become 
quite reconciled to the strange eyes with 
the puffy lids — but her complexion was 
good, her mouth full and fresh and 
pouting like a child’s, and when she smiled 
she was wholly charming. 

“Your name?” he said. “How shall I 
call you ? ” 

“ Hanu-San.” 

“ Hanu-San,” he repeated, admiration 
and pleasure blending with singular adroit- 
ness in his look. “An appropriate name, 
indeed, for you are just the sweetest flower 
that I have ever seen.” 

She blushed, but at the same time 
solemnly shook her head. 

“ Nay, your excellency, I am but a poor 
creature who has incurred the anger of the 
gods.” 

“ The gods,” said he disdainfully, “ are 
old, and deaf, and blind. What have they 
to do with thee, Hanu-San, with living 
flesh and blood? We go our way in spite 


At the Shrine of Shinto 


73 


of them, living, as the birds sing, the trees 
put forth their leaves, the sun rises and 
sets — simply because we must. All things 
in nature pursue their appointed course, 
and we, that are a part of nature, shall we 
not walk rightly, guided by the spirit which 
is within us ? ” 

Poor Hanu-San could not quite grasp 
the subtlety of such fine argument; but 
through the confusion of words and images 
she caught a fleeting vision of that vague 
something which, on more than one 
occasion lately, had flashed through her 
own brain; and she was aware that the 
stranger, or the essence of him, was enter- 
ing her soul through her eyes, and uncon- 
sciously she abandoned herself to the 
strange, delicious process. 

An hour after they passed down beneath 
the great torii, or granite archways, which 
are the invariable symbol of Shintoism, 
that old, vague, ill-remembered form of 
worship which is called a religion ; but this 
time his arm was thrown caressingly about 


74 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

her shoulders, and many times he stopped, 
irresolute, and gazed into her face with 
doubting looks; but she smiled up at him, 
and the sunshine danced in her eyes, and 
lit with a deeper scarlet her lips; and the 
man drew her suddenly to him and pressed 
her face into his breast. There was a 
pathos, a trustfulness in those clear eyes 
which overwhelmed him with a knowledge 
of his own guilt. 

But the weakness, as he called it, quickly 
passed, and presently he remembered 
nothing but that this fantastic little doll 
was a living, breathing woman — a creature 
in whom was the pleasure and the pain of 
life. So he pressed her closer, and kissed 
her, until she wondered at his passion; 
and when she stumbled, he caught her 
up in his arms, nor would he release her 
until he had reached the very bottom of 
the long flight of steps. And then, all 
panting and blushing, and burning with 
an unknown fire, Hanu-San was set upon 
her feet, and for some moments she had 


At the Shrine of Shinto 75 

not the courage to look into those eyes 
which were so like the sea. But it was 
delightful — all this strange whirl of excite- 
ment. Her soul would ever remain within 
the embrace of those strong arms. 

He accompanied her for still a little way 
until he noticed that she began to cast 
uneasy glances about her; then he stopped 
and took her hand, and once more searched 
her eyes for the soul which had already 
filled them with a new light. But the dog- 
like, wondering pathos of the look touched 
him keenly. He would rather her eyes 
were not quite so serious. 

“You will come to-morrow, Hanu-San,” 
he said, “ at the same hour ? ” 

She hesitated, but only for a moment. 

“ I will come, 5 ’ she whispered. 

He watched the quaint little figure as it 
descended the hill towards the town; then 
as it disappeared entirely he sat himself 
upon one of the great granite steps, lit a 
cheroot, and began to think. 

He had only arrived at the port the day 


76 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

before. Coming from Yokohama, where 
he had spent the last twelve months of his 
life, he had intended to stay in Nagasaki 
for one week prior to his departure for 
England. Old friends were to be looked 
up, visits to be repaid, general farewells 
exchanged. In a week the southern- 
bound steamer would call and take him to 
Hong-Kong, there to join the greater home 
boats. He had spent some happy months 
in Dai Nippon, or Great Japan, as the 
natives proudly call their country. He 
would have some pleasant memories to take 
back with him — and, possibly, one regret. 

The panorama that opened out beneath 
him was an exceedingly fair one — the far- 
stretching picturesque town, the masses 
of foliage, and the blue bay, upon the 
waters of which the light junks scudded 
to and fro and the great steamers lay 
asleep. But he saw all these things with 
the eye only; his brain was full of the 
image of a doll-like figure in a blue-and- 
white kimono. And he wondered what he 


At the Shrine of Shinto 


77 


ought to do. Curiosity had led him to 
explore the temple. As he passed up 
beneath the great torn , his thoughts were 
chiefly concerned with his voyage and his 
home-greeting. It was not until he beheld 
the devout form of Hanu-San bowed before 
the shrine that they took another turn. 
Then, for the time being, voyage, and 
home, and every other thought was 
obliterated. Was it not strange that just 
on the eve of his departure he should have 
met her ? There was no consistency in fate. 

But the next day, at the self-same hour, 
he toiled once more towards the shrine, 
and as he approached the great gaunt 
torii he almost wished that she might not 
be there. But this was not to be. All 
athrob with an anxiety the like of which 
had hitherto been a stranger to her, she 
had requested permission to ascend once 
more to the shrine, and as she even 
sounded the name of Sakata in a tone of 
maidenly reverence, the permission was 
at once accorded. Slowly, and with the 


yS Rose and Chrysanthemum 

utmost circumspection, she bowed herself 
from the august presence of her honour- 
able mother; but once she had begun her 
ascent of the hill her speed increased in 
spite of stumbles and hard breathing. He 
might be there, or he might have been 
there and gone! Both thoughts seemed 
to have an equally disastrous effect. 

But he was not there, and she knew not 
if he had been, and a long bitter wait was 
hers, her heart beating with sickening 
suspense. The shrine was before her, but 
the gods were not those of yesterday. 
Another had come to fill their place — one 
whose hair was charged with the gold of 
sunset, whose eyes were as blue and as 
fathomless as the sea. 

At last she caught a glimpse of him as 
he mounted the path towards her, and 
every nerve of her seemed to leap with a 
mighty bound, and for a moment her 
vision was blurred as by a mist. She 
could not understand this strange and 
sudden throbbing; she never sought to; 


At the Shrine of Shinto 79 

but long after she remembered it, and life 
would gladly have been given for such 
another sensation, even though she knew 
not if the grip upon her heart was one of 
pleasure or of pain. 

His greeting was inexpressibly tender; 
she nestled to him as a child might to 
its parent, and he, looking down at her, 
wrinkled his brow with thought. Then 
he stopped, irresolute, and held her away 
from him, and looked at her so strangely, 
so fiercely, that she trembled, wondering 
what she had done. But suddenly he 
threw up his head and laughed somewhat 
bitterly to himself. Then, seizing her 
hand, together they walked amid the 
trees and the flowers; and the birds sang 
to them, and the sun leapt into the eyes of 
Hanu-San and lit her face with happiness. 
And he said to her, “ Know you me, 
O Hanu-San ? ” 

She was at a loss for a suitable reply, 
because she did not wholly understand the 
question, but she smiled reassuringly. 


80 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“ It is very strange, but I seem to have 
known your excellency for many days.” 

“ But as I am? ” he said. 

“ As you are ? ” she echoed. “ Ay, of 
course.” 

He saw she did not understand. Why 
should he make her? Again that hesitant, 
irresolute look showed itself in his eyes. 
Then he sneered at his own weakness. 

And so for the five succeeding days, at 
the self-same hour, Hanu-San toiled upward 
to the shrine, and her parents marked with 
pleasure this proof of devotion in their 
daughter, and spoke repeatedly of the 
honourable Sakata and his hundred junks. 
And that daughter listened with a grave 
face, as became a maiden who was so 
highly honoured. It was a momentous 
event, this union with the illustrious 
Sakata, and no doubt the thought of it 
robbed her of the power of making an 
adequate reply. But the dazzle of her 
approaching greatness added a lustre to 
her stupidity. It was evident that she 


At the Shrine of Shinto 81 

had not intelligence enough rightly to 
appreciate the magnificent condescension 
of Sakata ; but she was young, and to such 
the gods are forbearing. 

And so each day the quaint little figure 
toiled its way upward with a beating heart. 
Sometimes the thought of Sakata obtruded 
its hateful presence, and filled her breast 
with pain; but it only needed a glimpse 
of the well-beloved figure near the shrine 
to banish the hateful sensation. With 
her hand in his there was no longer any 
fear or trouble in the world. Even Sakata 
was but the memory of a bad dream, 
which was shadowed but indistinctly in 
the mist of things. 

And so the days flew all too rapidly, and 
never once had she breathed the name of 
the illustrious owner of the hundred junks, 
and Castleton had but hinted vaguely at 
the date of his departure ; but now the time 
had drawn horribly near, and his manliness 
forbade him longer to conceal the fact. 
He regretted that he had not spoken 
G 


82 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

sooner, that he had not gently approached 
the subject, and so by degrees have pre- 
pared her for the inevitable. Yet she 
would probably accept the news with the 
stoicism of her race, that Oriental fatalism 
which explains every incongruity. It is 
written. Who shall gainsay the wisdom of 
the gods ? 

After many ineffectual attempts at an 
opening, he said, “Know you, 0 Hanu- 
San, that to-morrow morning the Mindoro 
will arrive from Kobe ? 55 

“ Indeed,” she said. What had she to do 
with the Mindoro or Kobe? Her heaven 
was here — here in Nagasaki. 

“ Ay,” he continued, rather nervously, 
“ and to-morrow evening she leaves for 
Hong-Kong.” 

And still she was not interested. Ships 
were always coming and going. Surely 
they were built for no other purpose? 

“For Hong-Kong,” he repeated. “You 
do not seem to understand ? ” 


At the Shrine of Shinto 83 

Some strange note in his voice arrested 
her attention. 

“ I understand/ 5 she said, perhaps a 
little nervously. “ To-morrow evening 
the Mindoro will sail for Hong-Kong. Is 
that not so ? ” 

“ It is/ 5 

“ Good. In three weeks she will be 
back again.” 

“ Yes/ 5 said he, “ that is true ; the ship 
will be back — but she will not return with 
all the people she took away/ 5 

Then for the first time her breast 
responded with a chill throb to the strange 
tone his voice had assumed, and she 
seemed to realise that under this apparently 
trivial piece of information there lay a 
serious meaning. Her eyes sought his, 
and in them he saw a look of pitiful 
anxiety. The mouth, too, quivere.d pain- 
fully as she spoke. 

“ I do not understand,” she faltered. 
“ Tell me.” 

He felt her little hands close tightly on 


84 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

his. They were throbbing and burning 
like fire; but as he spoke they grew, oh, 
so cold. 

“ Have you forgotten that I am but a 
visitor ? ” he said. “My home is away, 
away in the West. I could not stay here 
always.” 

Ay, to be sure. And yet she had not 
thought of it. The delight of the day had 
brought her sweet dreams in the night. 
Her life was full of dreams, of hopes, of 
soft sensations. Why should it not always 
be thus? 

“I had already booked my passage in 
the Mindoro” he continued, sparing him- 
self nothing — her nothing, though he saw 
her face pale and felt her hands tremble. 
“I must go home, Hanu-San; it is 
imperative. That is what I meant when 
I said that the Mindoro would not bring 
back all those people she took away. Do 
you understand? ” 

“Yes,” she gasped; but she staggered 
as though she would fall. He caught her, 


At the Shrine of Shinto 


85 


and their eyes met; but to the longest day 
of his life Castleton will be haunted by the 
stricken pathos of that look. 

Slowly, and for the last time, they 
descended beneath the great torii together. 
His arm was about her as before; the 
vague suggestion that he was murmuring 
words of consolation stole into her numbed 
brain; but the birds no longer sang; the 
sun, fierce as it had been a moment ago, 
now failed to warm the chilly air. The 
trees waved their phantom arms before 
her and flung cold shadows into her eyes; 
the rustle of the leaves sounded like a jeer 
at human hopes. Below she saw the bay 
and the ships as through a haze. Hateful 
bay! hateful ships! But for them he 
would not have come; but for them he 
could not go. 

They stopped at the old parting of the 
ways, and again he sought to render her 
consolation; but the pathos of her eyes 
stole right into his heart and stilled his 


86 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

tongue. He could not say what he did 
not mean. It would have been too pitiful. 

“ My lord will come again? 55 she said. 

“ Perhaps/ 5 he answered. 

She bowed low and pressed his hand to 
her forehead. 

“ I have been yours/ 5 she whispered, 
“and you mine, and so it shall be for all 
eternity. I have looked into your eyes, 
0 my lord, and the sunshine of your 
glance has dazzled me. But the gods are 
good. I thank them for this glimpse of 
paradise. It is written. Sayonara” 

“ Say onara” he answered. 

It was the last word of farewell. 


KOBE 


Where Fuji-Yama rears his crest , 

And tinkling hells in temples ring ; 

And girls are picturesquely drest , 

And love is god of everything, 

Myosho of the tranquil eyes , 

And placid smile , her way doth keep , 
Greeting the sunbeams as they rise 
From out the great Pacific deep. 

Myosho of the soft brown eye , 

I wonder if her memory yet 
Keeps clear the day , long since gone by, 
When she and I? — Does she forget ? 
Does she forget the stranger rude, 

The fervent clasp , the lips that kist ? — 
Ah! God, it is not always good 

That man should ivorship where he list! 

A momentary pang of pain, 

A transitory gleam of joy ! 

I wonder should I do again, 

If power were given me to destroy ? 
Myosho, do you ever think 

Of that tall stranger, bronzed and free , 
Who stopped to crave of thee a drink, 

And stole thy loveliness from thee ? 


































































' 







































































































































































































































KIKU 


Hallerton lived in Tokio, and Glynton in 
Shanghai, and the latter, after many a 
keen disappointment, at last turned his 
face eastward and steered for Chrysan- 
themum Land. Only six weeks could be 
spared, but in that time an energetic man 
may accomplish much. Glynton, albeit of 
a staid and resolute exterior, was an 
energetic man. He made little noise, but 
he moved swiftly and with precision, the 
result of which was that he saw much, 
accomplished much — and carried away 
with him one everlasting memory. 

He was no stranger to Japan, but he had 
been a stranger for three years, and his first 
glimpse of the country awakened many 
pleasant recollections. There was Nagasaki 
crowded with old memories; the beautiful 


90 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

inland sea; Kobe, and Ninko’s chaya , and 
the tinkling of the samisen and the 
mellower note of the koto. Then came 
Yokohama Bay and the capital beyond. 

Hallerton received him with open arms 
&nd took a week’s holiday in his honour, 
and they went on excursions into the 
country, or sailed on the Bay of Yedo, 
and lived generally like two boys just let 
loose from school. 

But this had to end, and for the next 
week Glynton was left for the greater part 
of the day alone, his friend being called 
on business to Yokohama every morning. 
Glynton, however, was a man who could 
tolerate his own company, and as it was 
that time of the year when the land is 
aglow with cherry-blossoms white and red, 
and when every breath inhaled, laden with 
the perfume and the sunshine, is a delicious 
intoxicant, he found his aimless little excur- 
sions into the surrounding country profitable 
and invigorating. 

On one occasion, wandering with no fixed 


Kiku 


9i 


purpose, his steps led him to surmount a 
little hill which, though it lay back some 
distance from the water, still commanded 
an extensive view of the bay and the 
surrounding country. He began a slow 
ascent of this hill, for the sun was warm 
and the dust lay thick on the road, and he 
felt inclined to loiter by the way ; but 
the cool green and white of his goal held out 
an invitation which he could not resist. 

Slowly he trudged upward until he came 
to where a narrow footway branched off 
from the main road, and, as the former 
looked the more inviting of the two paths, 
he took it, though not without a feeling 
that he was encroaching on private property. 
However, that troubled him but little, and 
even if it had caused him much concern 
it is doubtful if his curiosity would have 
bowed to his discretion. For, insensibly as 
it were, a desire to penetrate this mound of 
flowers and of leaves had come to him, and 
one that he knew it would be necessary to 
gratify. 


92 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

As he made his way upward the foliage 
thickened, and presently, the path taking 
a sudden bend, he found himself before a 
small clearing, in the midst of which was 
the daintiest little bandbox of a house that 
he had ever seen. Startled, he drew back, 
and through the leaves peered like a guilty 
creature at the pretty picture. The house 
was like a toy embedded in blooms. Flowers 
innumerable shone from every point of 
vantage, while the heavy perfume of the 
fruit trees stole towards him in a golden 
cloud. The day was so still that he seemed 
to hear the multitudinous murmurs of the 
insect life in the grass. 

But suddenly the soft note of a samisen 
was wafted through one of the wide-open 
windows, and he drew still closer in 
against the leaves — an involuntary move- 
ment which he might not have been able 
or willing to analyse. Intuitively he seemed 
to guess that the hand which struck the 
strings was that of an artist, and he leant 
forward eager in anticipation. 


Kiku 


93 


A sharp, defiant note followed, a coarse 
twanging of numbers, as though the player 
was seized with a sudden fit of anger, and, 
having nothing else upon which to vent 
it, tortured the poor unoffending instru- 
ment. Then there was silence for the 
space of many moments, and then once 
more the clear notes vibrated on the still 
air. To the uninitiated ear, all Eastern 
music is nothing more or less than a 
bewildering series of discordant sounds ; 
but this particular listener was not 
uninitiated, and he distinguished in the 
notes a melancholy which, under such 
conditions, was singularly impressive. 

Presently a voice — a low-wailing voice — 
began to sing with the music ; and 
though Glynton could catch no word 
distinctly, he knew that it was the out- 
pouring of a sad and desolate heart. 
Like one spell-bound, he stood and 
listened, breathing hard as the singer’s 
voice rose in the scale. 

Truly it was a novel experience, one 


94 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

the like of which his wanderings had 
known no parallel. Even when the 
singer’s voice had died away, and the 
strings of the samisen no longer ached 
and throbbed in the air, he still stood 
for some sign or token. Then, with a 
strange little cynical laugh, he stepped out 
from his retreat and made towards the 
house. Come what might, he was going to 
have a peep at this singer of dirges. 

As he approached the house he was 
greeted by the sharp yelping of a little 
dog, which came out on the verandah and 
presented a furious front. Almost at the 
same moment a woman’s face appeared 
at the window, through which had floated 
the strains of the guitar. She seemed 
rather amused at the prodigious anger of 
her small dog, and laughingly called to it 
to desist ; and then, with a gracious smile to 
the stranger, she apolpgised most prettily 
for the rudeness of her pet. 

Glynton raised his hat and honoured the 
lady with a profound obeisance; but in 


Kiku 


95 


the smiling, round-faced girl before him 
he failed utterly to recognise the melancholy 
singer whose sad song had tuned him to such 
an extraordinary pitch. Indeed, he doubted 
much if this handsome girl, with her 
reckless, defiant smile, and her marvellous 
self-consciousness, could possibly have any 
connection with the woman who so lately 
had poured forth her woes to the sky. 

“ I beg your pardon/ 5 he said ; “ I fear I 
am intruding. I saw this pretty spot, and 
trudged upward to explore. Then across 
the sunshine, on a cloud of perfume it 
seemed, came the delightful notes of a bird, 
and I could not retreat without one glance 
at the sweet singer/ 5 

He bowed again, and the girl smiled 
happily; but at that moment, warned by 
the barking of the dog, two men appeared 
from the back of the house, and the girl’s 
face as she turned towards them assumed a 
darker shade. 

“ This stranger is weary and thirsty/ 5 
she said ; “ bring him refreshment. 55 


Rose and Chrysanthemum 


The servants made low obeisance, and 
then slunk swiftly away to do her bidding. 
She watched them disappear, watched with 
a keen eye, a shaded brow, which, however, 
passed from her with the passing of the 
men. Then she turned once more to the 
stranger. 

Presently he was seated in the cool 
verandah, and, without the slightest trace 
of embarrassment, the girl came out and 
joined him. He looked at her critically, 
but found no fault. She was exceedingly 
handsome, and in her grey kimono looked 
particularly fresh and sweet. Her eyes 
were wonderfully dazzling, and almost bold, 
he thought; but her face was, perhaps, a 
trifle pallid, and sometimes a strange line 
formed about the corners of her mouth. 

Tea was brought to them in quaint little 
egg-shell cups, and sweetmeats, too, were 
placed upon the table. This was an 
adventure full of charm. Glynton leant 
back and eyed his companion through the 
thin wreaths of cigarette smoke. 


Kiku 


97 


“ As I stood among the leaves down 
yonder I heard a bird, 5 ’ he said. “May I 
not see her ? ” 

She laughed. He thought it one of the 
prettiest mouths that he had ever seen. 

“It is possible/’ and she laughed again. 

“ It was not you ? ” 

“ Why not ? ” she said. 

“But it was a song full of sadness ” 

he began. 

“ And how know you that I may not be 
sad at times ? ” 

“ Nay, I know not/’ he answered ; “ but 
I hope that happiness is ever with you.” 

She filled her little silver pipe and lit it, 
but there was trouble in her eyes as she 
stared up at him through the smoke. 

“ Yes,” she answered slowly, “ I have 
the reputation of being good friends with 
happiness. It is something, is it not?” 

“No,” he said; “not if the song I heard 
came from your heart.” 

“Heart!” she echoed, with a disdainful 
laugh. “You do not know me, eh?” 

H 


98 


Rose and Chrysanthemum 


“ I only know that you are beautiful, and 
that, in spite of your charming face, you are 
very sad.” 

“Ah!” she murmured, “you see deeper 
than most people.” 

As she knocked the ash from her pipe 
he rose to go. 

“ You are very kind,” he said. “ May I 
not come again?” 

She hesitated, and looked him keenly up 
and down. 

“You live here in Tokio?” 

“For a few weeks only. Then I return 
to Shanghai.” 

“For good?” 

“ That I cannot say. It is in the hands 
of the gods. And you — do you live here 
alone ? ” 

“ Not always alone.” 

“You are married?” 

“ No.” 

He looked puzzled, and she smiled. 

“ Why should one marry ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” he said. 


Kiku 


99 


Nevertheless, there was unobtrusive 
evidence of wealth about her and her 
belongings. The house, small as it was, 
was charming ; the kimono she wore, 
though modest in tone and in design, was 
spun of silk. The obsequious servants, the 
boxes of choice flowers, the indefinite and 
yet general air of comfort, all proclaimed 
that this was no ordinary establishment. 

Nor was its owner an ordinary woman, 
at least so Glynton thought as he walked 
away, having stayed longer than common 
politeness warranted. But she was very 
charming, and had given him permission 
to call again; and all the way home he 
saw her handsome face and sparkling 
eyes, and something behind those eyes 
which was as sad as death. Strange 
woman, strange creature living thus 
alone: a bird breaking its heart against 
the bars of a gilded cage. 

When Hallerton returned that night 
from Yokohama he began to apologise 
profusely for having left his friend; but 


ioo Rose and Chrysanthemum 

Glynton cut him short. He had found 
something which had entirely compensated 
him for his friend’s absence. 

The next day, at the selfsame hour, he 
once more mounted the path which led to 
the cottage; but this time she was waiting 
for him, and as he walked up the little 
pathway she appeared at the window, 
although there was no barking of the 
dog to herald his approach. Upon this 
occasion she was dressed very elaborately, 
and her eyes and her cheeks were touched 
up in the approved native fashion. While 
in one way this heightened her beauty, it 
seemed to rob her of much of her former 
charm; and though he felt flattered at her 
evident desire to please, he could have 
wished that she looked not quite so like 
a geisha. Then he laughed somewhat 
cynically to himself. Heavens! what did 
it matter to him what she looked like? 

As for her, the presence of this stranger 
seemed infinitely to please. He was bigger, 
stronger, more beautiful than any of her 


Kiku 


IOI 


own men. His hair was fair, soft, and silky, 
and marvellously fascinating ; his eyes were 
so blue that she was never tired of searching 
them for the many mysteries which lay 
in their depths. Truly, these white people 
were very lovely! She wondered if he had 
a wife, a sweetheart, of his own race. 
She had heard of the soft, delicate beauty 
of the white women. Were they so much 
more lovely than the Japanese? 

“ Tell me,” she said, as they once more 
sat in the verandah sipping tea, “ are the 
women of your race so very beautiful ? ” 

“ Many of them,” he answered, “ are very 
beautiful.” 

“ And have they hair like yours, and eyes 
like yours ? ” 

“ I am hideous,” he laughed. “ They have 
hair like a cluster of sunbeams; to look 
into their eyes is to enter the gates of 
paradise. Their faces are like the red and 
white cherry-blossoms yonder ; their lips are 
sweeter than roses.” 


102 Rose and Chrysanthemum 


She pouted, and something like a frown 
ran down her forehead to her eyes. 

“ How hideous we Japanese must seem 
beside them! 55 

He smiled. It was the piqued daughter 
of Eve. And so is it all the world over — 
black or white, brown or red. 

“ I know one Japanese , 55 he said, “ who 
combines in her dainty little person all the 
charms of the white woman, and more. 
And her name — what think you they call 
her ? 55 

“ I know not , 55 she answered ; “ but I 
should like to see one who possesses so 
many graces . 55 

“Look in your mirror, Kiku , 55 he said, 
“and then you will see the lady of whom 
I speak . 55 

Kiku blushed very prettily, if not 
violently, and her eyelids drooped. He 
noticed her fingers fumble excitedly with 
each other as they lay in her lap. 

“ I mean it, Kiku , 55 he whispered. “ You 
are very lovely . 55 


Kiku 


103 


A palpable shudder shook her from 
head to foot, which he attributed to any- 
thing but the right cause. Yet when he 
looked into her eyes again, he saw that 
they were full of regret, of a pathos which 
made him pause and think. 

When he reached the bungalow that 
night his friend Hallerton had already 
dined, and had even got through the larger 
half of his second cigar. 

“I must apologise, old fellow; but I 
waited a deuce of a time. Have you 
dined?" 

“ Yes." 

“ Oh?" 

This was clearly in the manner of an 
interrogation, but Glynton was in no con- 
fidential mood. He did not say where he 
had dined, or with whom. Why should he ? 

Hallerton got up, made his friend a 
whisky-and-soda, and then handed him 
the cigar-box. 

“ Tired?" 

“Yes," said Glynton; “had a long day." 


104 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“ Where have you been ? ” 

“ Everywhere.” 

“A large order.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I am sorry, old chap, that I have to 
leave you so much alone; but you quite 
understand, don’t you ? ” 

“ My dear fellow,” said Glynton, “ I beg 
of you not to mention it if you do not 
wish me to feel uncomfortable.” 

Hallerton laughed good-naturedly. He 
was an excellent old beggar, this serious- 
eyed Glynton. 

“By the way,” said Hallerton presently, 
as he stretched forth to replenish his glass, 
“ I have received an invitation from Count 
Idzumo. He gives a big garden-party 
sort of affair to-morrow afternoon. You 
will come, of course ? ” 

“I think not, old fellow. Such things 
are no longer in my line.” 

“I must go, of course,” said Hallerton. 
“Diplomatic etiquette, you know. What 
shall you do with yourself ? ” 


Kiku 


105 


“ Oh, I shall be all right. Don’t bother 
about me. I suppose Idzumo is a big 
man now ? ” 

a Bless you, yes. A future Prime 
Minister, Foreign Secretary, and heaven 
alone knows what else.” 

“ He is very wealthy ? ” 

“Very; and he has a magnificent place. 
An ugly little black beast — a native all 
over ; but one must not show one’s 
dislikes.” 

“ Um ! I don’t think his excellency 
will interest me.” 

“ But perhaps his geisha may. Kiku is 
going to dance.” 

“ Kiku!” 

Glynton threw off his lethargy and sat 
upright. 

“ Of course, you are a stranger — you 
haven’t heard of her. She is the chief 
favourite of the day. All Tokio has gone 
mad over her. Commands fabulous prices, 
they say.” 

“ 0— oh! ” 


106 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

Mr. Glynton was now thoroughly inter- 
ested in Idzumo’s garden party. Kiku — 
Kiku! Over and over again he repeated 
the name to himself. But of course it 
could have no significance. There were 
thousands of Kikus in Japan. 

“ She is good, eh ? ” he asked non- 
chalantly. 

“ I suppose so — or at least as good as 
such performers can be. She was bought 
out of her indentures about eighteen 
months ago by Nadzu, a son of the War 
Minister, who only lived six months to 
regret his rash act. He committed the 
happy despatch in a peculiarly horrible 
manner upon her doorstep. Her servants 
kicked the body into the road.” 

“ Quite right, too. Dirty fellow.” 

“ It was inconsiderate. Kiku is not 
renowned for her sentiment. They say she 
is very rich.” 

“ Then, of course, she is pretty ? ” 

“My dear fellow, is the East so very 
different from the West in that respect? 


Kiku 


107 

Kiku is very pretty, and she dances 
excellently — for a native.” 

“ And this Idzumo ? ” 

“ My dear fellow, you know as much 
about it as I do. Gossip says — but then 
you know gossip says many things. I 
believe it is generally conceded that the 
Count takes a fatherly interest in her. He 
never has an entertainment of any kind of 
which she is not the bright particular star.” 

Later on, as the two men separated for 
the night, Glynton said to his friend, “I 
have changed my mind, Hallerton. I 
think I shall go and see Kiku dance 
to-morrow.” 

He devoutly hoped that his Kiku might 
not be the notorious geisha of Tokio 
whose private history was evidently the 
theme of so much gossip. How could 
she be? There was nothing in her speech 
or manners indicative of the degraded 
professions. She was a woman of sense 
and sentiment, and totally unlike the 
harpy who calls herself a geisha. And 


108 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

yet there was something strange about 
her, something that reminded him of days 
when he first came to Japan with the wild 
fever of youth upon him. And then her 
manner of living was strangest of all, and 
one, when he thought of it, well calculated 
to awaken suspicion. 

In the forenoon of the following day he 
trudged once more towards her house, 
having previously made up his mind to 
set all doubt at rest. But as he drew near 
the verandah a figure appeared in the 
doorway, and it was not the figure of 
Kiku. It was a little dark man who stood 
before him, an ugly scrap of a fellow with 
a ridiculously thin moustache and beard, 
narrow black slits of eyes set close to the 
nose, and a retreating forehead of some 
considerable dimensions. 

Glynton did not remember seeing the man 
before, but having no doubt that he was 
a servant, he merely nodded familiarly and 
asked if the honourable mistress of the house 
was within. The little man replied slowly 


Kiku 


109 


with a shake of the head. Then it was 
that Glynton, more closely scrutinising, saw 
that in his informant which he had 
previously faded to notice. The man, 
though obviously most carelessly attired, 
carried himself quite unlike a servant ; 
and Glynton, when he set his wits to work, 
recognised this in an instant. Then who 
was he, and what was he doing in Kiku’s 
house ? 

“She has been gone long?” asked 
Glynton, a shade of greater deference in 
his tone. 

“ I believe so, excellency.” 

The Englishman duly noted the peculiar 
tone in which the word “ excellency ” was 
expressed. 

“ She will return soon — perhaps? ” 

“ Perhaps, excellency ; but I think not.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Because to-night she dances for the great 
Count Idzumo.” 

“ How do you know that? ” 

“Why should I not, excellency? Is 


no Rose and Chrysanthemum 


not Kiku the loveliest and most illustrious 
geisha in all Japan, and is not the honour- 
able Count one of her most successful 
patrons ? ” 

A self-complacent smile, which exces- 
sively irritated Glynton, played about the 
man’s mouth. 

“ You take great liberties with the 
reputation of your mistress,” he said. 
“ Gossip, my worthy fellow, is not wise in 
a servant.” 

“ No, excellency. I will think of it. 
And your excellency’s business ? ” 

“ Is with your mistress.” 

“ But who shall I say has called ? ” 

“ Describe me. She will know.” 

“ Yes, excellency.” 

But the man’s face was a perfect study, 
and though at the best of times Glynton 
was not a particularly keen observer, he 
did not fail to notice the singular 
expression which played about the little 
Jap’s beady eyes. 

He flung the fellow half a yen , and 


Kiku 


1 1 1 


turned on his heel. He was angry and he 
was disappointed, and, in spite of a pro- 
digious effort to laugh, he felt a creeping 
sickness about the heart which caused him 
intense annoyance. Something suggested 
love, but he laughed loudly, and perhaps 
a trifle idiotically at the mere idea. Lord! 
how he had been fooled ! The sweet 
singer, the mournful maiden with whom 
he had sympathised, who lived alone with- 
out love, without happiness, was the most 
notorious woman in all Tokio. 

It was with a disgusted and desperate 
feeling that he went with his friend to 
the reception. A dozen times during his 
journey homewards he had hesitated to 
take the step, but as often his weakness to 
see her overcame his pride. It would be 
something to be able to laugh at his own 
folly. 

It was late when he and Hallerton 
arrived, but they immediately went in 
search of the Count, and presently beheld 
him coming towards them in close con- 


1 1 2 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

versation with the French Minister. 
Hallerton advanced, a glib apology on his 
tongue, but Glynton followed in no easy 
mood. The little gentleman who was so 
deeply engaged in conversation with the 
Frenchman was the illustrious Count 
Idzumo — the person whom Glynton had 
seen at Kiku’s house that morning. 

The Count smiled meaningly as Haller- 
ton introduced his friend, and immediately 
his hand went to his waistcoat pocket. 
But withdrawing it instantly, he said, with 
a smile, “ No ; I will keep it as a souvenir.” 
Which cryptic utterance filled Hallerton’s 
face with bewilderment. 

When they were once more alone, he 
said to Glynton, “What did the Count 
mean ? ” 

“Oh!” replied his friend, with an 
inscrutable smile, “the Count and I have 
met before.” 

“The devil!” muttered the diplomat. 

Glynton was like a man pulled two 
different ways. He was eager, anxious to 


Kiku 


”3 

see Kiku dance ; and yet, with all his soul 
he loathed the thought of it. Neverthe- 
less, he followed the crowd into the great 
room which had been transformed into a 
temporary theatre, and patiently awaited 
her turn; and when at length she came 
on and began to cut capers and grimace, 
a veritable painted geisha , his chin dropped 
forward and he could not look ; but through 
an atmosphere of theatric affectation, 
through the sounding of the drum and 
the tinkling of the samisen , he heard a 
dirge-like wail, and saw the white, sad 
face of a woman. 

When he looked up again, Kiku was 
making her exit to tumultuous applause. 
Men made strange jokes and laughed 
strange laughs. The atmosphere stifled 
him; he made his apologies and withdrew. 

That night she was to dance again, but 
when, an hour or so after, Glynton and 
Hallerton met, the diplomat informed his 
friend that the pet geisha had suddenly 
i 


1 14 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

been taken ill, and would appear no more 
that day. But plenty of entertainment 
was promised. Idzumo knew how to do 
the thing well. There were rumours of 
a magnificent exposition of the kina. It 
had been hoped that Kiku would lead. . . . 

Glynton heard no more, but that night 
found him not among the Count’s guests. 
Angry with himself, and yet impelled 
onward by a force which he would have 
been powerless to analyse, even had he 
striven, he had wended his way to the 
little house on the hill, and with a shamed, 
hesitating manner, she came down the 
path to meet him. 

“ They told me you were ill,” he said, 
“and so I came to see.” She did not tell 
him that her illness was brought on by a 
glimpse of him with shame and confusion 
writ large upon his face. “ I did not know 
you were a geisha .” She bowed her head 
without answering. “Idzumo’s geisha ,” he 
added, meaningly. 


Kiku 


ii5 


“No, my lord,” she cried, “not that! 
Idzumo, he is rich and great, but I hate 
him. Let my lord say the word and 
Idzumo employs me no more.” 

“ Why should I ? What is it to me ? ” 

“ Ay, what is it to my lord? ” 

“ Kiku, they tell strange tales of you.” 

“ It is so, my lord. I know. Kitsune - 
tsuki — fox-woman — witch — I have heard 
them repeated. But those who do not know 
me tell the strangest tales of all.” 

The story of Nadzu, the War Minister’s 
son, leapt to his lips. But the bowed 
figure and the penitent face were an 
irresistible appeal to silence. And, after 
all, what was it to him? 

Her little hand slipped tremblingly into 
his. 

“ If we love, my lord, is it not enough ? ” 
“ They say the love of the kilsune-tsuki 
is death.” 

“ But my lord does not believe ? ” 

“No,” he said. “And Idzumo?” 


1 1 6 Rose and Chrysanthemum 


“My lord’s eyes have blinded me / 5 she 
murmured. 

His arms slipped round her shoulders, 
and she nestled closely to him. 

“ Kiku / 5 he said, “ I think they are 
right. You are a witch . 55 


HALF-BREED 


Eve wandered wide o'er many lands and sailed o'er many seas. 
And of the cup of beauty quaffed a full and flowing share ; 
But memory fondly loiters with my little Japanese — 

O-Setsu of the English eyes and glossy Eastern hair. 

For fervent recollection in my soul has set a shrine , 

And in that shrine her soft eyes burn — a heaven-illumined 
light : 

I mark the red lip redder grow beneath the blood-red wine, 
And kiss the rose that comes and goes , a red one or a white. 


Oh, they were days when life was young and all the world 
was glad, 

And in my dreams I sometimes think I hear the koto ring; 
And half of me is weary and the other half is mad, 

And my pulses leap and quicken to the throbbing of the 
string. 

There is music all about me, there is laughter, there is wine, 
There's a cosy seat that nestles ' neath the great wistaria tree. 
Oh, the day that long has vanished is the day we call divine, 
And the lave that is beyond us is the love for you and me. 































































I 























































































































































THE YELLOW KIMONO 


Floyd’s uncle being an official of some 
importance at the Legation in Tokio, it not 
unnaturally followed that when the nephew 
paid his never-to-be-forgotten visit he saw 
the imperial city at its best. Like many 
well-to-do young fellows, he had, on 
finishing his education, set out to circum- 
navigate the globe; and his wanderings 
having led him to the Far East, he paused 
there a little while — and was sobered ever 
after. 

No one, of course, blamed him. In the 
East, as in the West, no one ever blames 
the man — that is, no one of any dis- 
tinction. A few narrow-minded Pharisees 
may rail, creatures of no birth or breed- 
ing ; but your gentleman is above any such 
puerile sentiment. It is always the woman 


120 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

who suffers, the woman who pays. Yet 
the sufferings of Omi-San, she whom the 
great Count Tora condescended to honour, 
made the most thoughtless pause and 
think. 

Floyd was young, good-looking, well 
set up — one in whom was personified the 
glory of life. The whole wide world lay 
before him, and into it he leapt with the 
mad impetuosity of youth. There is no 
joy like that of living, of squeezing the 
last drop of pleasure out of life. The 
young may grow reckless without losing 
their charm. There is a world between 
the follies of youth and the sins of age. 

As I have already said, his connection 
with the aforesaid high official gave him 
a decided advantage over the wandering 
tourist, or the ordinary inhabitant of a 
treaty port; and it was through this diplo- 
matic connection that he first came in 
contact with Omi of the Yellow Kimono. 
Not that the diplomat was directly respon- 
sible. It was written, that is all. And 


The Yellow Kimono 


I 2 I 


what is written neither diplomat nor 
emperor can blot out. Only things turn 
out very strangely at times, and we who 
have the power to think and learn are 
gifted with many riches. 

Count Tora, when free of the exigencies 
of his office about the court, spent his 
days on the very beautiful estate which he 
owned on the shores of the Bay of Yedo, 
and thither Floyd went with his uncle to 
jrnss a couple of days. The Count knew 
very little English, and Floyd absolutely 
no Japanese; but the uncle was thoroughly 
conversant with the native tongue, and 
the young man found amusement enough 
in the novelty of his surroundings. 

By some judicious* questioning he 
quickly realised that the reputation of 
his host did not ill agree with his appear- 
ance, and though that reputation was no 
concern of his, it enabled him to contem- 
plate somewhat leniently his own folly. For 
Tora was neither pleasant in manners 
nor in appearance. Short of stature, and 


122 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

broad beyond all proportion, he wore a 
heavy, ugly mask of a face out of which 
peered two little slits of black fire. He 
owned a starved beard and moustache (the 
yellow men cannot grow much hair on the 
face), of which he was believed to be 
inordinately fond. For the rest, his nose 
was broad and flat, his mouth not ill- 
formed, but heavy. The sophisticated 
would say, upon looking at him, that he 
was fond of good things, and that he could 
be cruel when angry. 

But what did all this matter? He was 
Count Tora, one upon whom the Emperor 
deigned to cast his illustrious eyes. What 
other honour is there for man to achieve? 
And even if that was not enough, which is 
highly incredible, Count Tora had many of 
this world’s riches, and in his own way he 
was still the daimio , the feudal chief. 

Floyd and his uncle arrived in time for 
the midday meal, after which they spent a 
couple of hours in viewing the extensive 
grounds of the Count; but after that the 


The Yellow Kimono 


123 


young man felt the time begin to drag. 
He could not sit still, drink tea, and listen 
to a language he did not understand. So, 
under the pretence of smoking a cigar, he 
went out into the grounds, the beauty of 
which compensated him somewhat for the 
unintelligible chatter within. 

Wandering aimlessly about, he suddenly 
found himself facing a bank of roses — 
roses red, and pink, and white, the perfume 
of which was wafted like a cloud through 
the sunshine. He stopped for a moment to 
inhale the delicious fragrance; and as he 
drew in the sweet air with long, deep 
breaths, it suddenly struck him that Tora 
had not shown them this bank, certainly 
one of the most charming spots of his 
garden. But there were so many charming 
spots. Tora was embarrassed with riches. 

He walked on slowly, feasting his eyes 
with the brilliant masses of colour, his 
senses with the sweet air, and presently he 
espied a light gate of trellis-work let into 
the hedge. This evidently led into an 


124 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

inner garden, one which he felt sure they 
had not explored with Tora. Why? 

He pushed back the gate and entered, 
and as he did so he caught the flutter of a 
yellow dress in the distance. It was in 
the far corner of the garden, down by the 
bank of roses. The owner thereof might 
even have been watching him through 
the blooms. 

Without stopping to think, he made 
direct for the clump of shrubbery behind 
which he had seen the yellow kimono 
disappear; but when he arrived there, he 
just caught a glimpse of it vanishing 
behind another clump further down the 
garden. Redoubling his speed, for the 
glimpse he had caught of the flying 
figure, coupled with its evident desire to 
avoid him, had whetted his curiosity, he 
soon overtook it and brought it to bay in 
a corner of the garden. 

He felt rather ashamed of himself as 
he saw her distress. His conduct was 
not in conformity with good taste or 


The Yellow Kimono 


125 


good manners; but he was in the East, 
where the white man is usually a law unto 
himself. What the native thinks of him is 
a matter of no concern. Who thinks any- 
thing of a native ? 

A closer scrutiny revealed many charms 
in the wearer of the yellow kimono , not the 
least of which were the pretty blushes 
which chased each other across her 
troubled face. He looked, and saw that 
she was embarrassed, but her embarrass- 
ment lent her such a fascination that he 
would willingly have committed a more 
serious crime for a like result. 

“ Ohccyo ! ” he said. 

It was one of the few T words of Japanese 
which comprised his limited vocabulary, 
and the pronunciation, or mispronuncia- 
tion, of it afforded him a moment of 
pleasure. It was equivalent to our greet- 
ing, “ Good day.” 

Then slowly she raised her head, and 
in a low voice stammered, “ Ohayo ! ” Floyd 
knew not why it should be so, but he felt 


126 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

his pulses leap as the soft word rang 
through his brain. He hurriedly mispro- 
nounced a few more words, and then 
came to a sudden standstill. After all, 
upon occasion, it is just as well to know 
even Japanese. 

But if the tongue is not always under- 
stood, it can invariably make itself fairly 
intelligible with the aid of the eyes; and 
in her wondering way Omi-San thought 
the full grey eyes of the stranger some- 
thing more than human. Never had she 
looked into such eyes, except in her 
dreams, and then she confused them with 
the clouds and the sky, and the white 
spirits which haunted the snow regions of 
the North. And they were now looking 
into hers, burning, unfathomable, and in a 
vague way she seemed to realise that 
a new influence was taking possession of 
her heart and her soul. 

In the meantime, his brain had not 
been slow to grasp certain possibilities. 
With the eyes of a connoisseur, he had 


The Yellow Kimono 


127 


been quietly absorbing each and every 
particular of the quaint, winsome creature 
before him — from the butterfly pattern of 
her hair to the rich yellow 'kimono with 
its red flowers and leaves of embroidered 
silk. She was, perhaps, taller than the 
average native woman, and her head was 
set on a neck which would have delighted 
the soul of a Japanese artist. Her mouth 
was soft and lovable, and, so Floyd 
thought, made for kisses. And yet it was 
more than probable that she knew nothing 
of that Western delight. Heavens! but he 
would like to teach her — and might, if the 
opportunity arose. 

He took her hand, and she let him hold 
it without demur. He paid her extravagant 
compliments, in his own language, of course. 
Did she know what he meant? Well, 
woman is woman. Place a man in juxta- 
position to her, give him a pair of eyes. 
He wants nothing else — nor she either. 

In this rose-scented garden the minutes 
flew upon the wings of the lightning. The 


128 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

air was full of sunshine and sweetness, and 
the drowsy hum of the small life in the 
grass. But the rose bank against which 
they sat began to throw a long shadow 
upon the ground, though neither seemed 
to notice it. Then of a sudden the sound 
of a human voice disturbed the tranquillity 
of the scene. It was Tora speaking on the 
other side of the hedge. Floyd awoke and 
looked into the face of Omi-San. 

It had suddenly gone white with terror. 
Her eyes were full of fear; she breathed 
quickly, shortly, with great difficulty. He 
formed his mouth as though to speak, but 
hurriedly she covered it with her hand. 
That he was surprised, the expression of 
his eyes denoted ; nevertheless, he had 
sufficient presence of mind to kiss the 
little pink palm. 

A moment she sat, head erect, eyes and 
ears alert, and presently the voice came 
again, this time in the distance. Then she 
rose to her feet, seized Floyd by the hand, 
and with a scared look hurried him towards 


The Yellow Kimono 


129 


the trellis-gate through which he had 
entered. Then with an excited gesticula- 
tion she bade him begone. But knowing 
nothing of her danger he had none of her 
fear; so that when she turned to go he 
sprang after her, caught her in his arms, 
and held her face up to his; and though 
she struggled, it was only in a weak, 
womanish way. He made her eyes meet 
his. Then he kissed her. He knew Omi- 
San would not forget. 

Without being observed, he made his way 
from the garden, and in a distant part of the 
grounds discovered Tora and his uncle. 

“ Where have you been ? ” he said. 
“ I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” 

“ And we for you,” said his host. 

He bore without flinching the scrutiny 
with which the illustrious Tora honoured 
him. And yet he wondered why he should 
feel so antagonistic towards the Count — 
why his back should stiffen because the 
august little slit-eye took upon himself the 
liberty to look. 

K 


130 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

But that night, as his uncle and he 
smoked together before retiring, he 
suddenly evinced an uncommon interest 
in the native language. 

“ I listened hard to you and the Count 
talking,” he said. “ It seemed to me a very 
pretty tongue.” 

It was a feeble, boyish excuse, and quite 
unnecessary. But Floyd was young at 
deception, and he showed the raw hand. 

“ Believe me,” said his uncle, “ some 
excellent compliments may be paid even 
in Japanese.” 

“ I should like to learn a few.” 

The uncle favoured him with a quizzing 
smile. After all, it was natural enough; 
and the little creatures had a charm of 
their own which especially appealed to the 
new-comer. 

“ You have found the language rather 
a difficulty, eh?” 

“My dear uncle, a man should know 
how to pay a compliment to a lady.” 

“ I have no fault to find with the desire 


The Yellow Kimono 


131 

to acquire knowledge; the danger lies in 
the uses to which knowledge is put. For 
instance, I should not advise you to try 
your ’prentice hand on any lady whom the 
illustrious Tora delights to honour.” 

“ My dear uncle ! ” 

The young gentleman protested with a 
stern shake of the head. This imputation 
of poaching evidently did him a great 
injustice. The uncle marked, and smiled. 
Though a diplomat, and one well versed 
in the wily ways of the East and West, 
he still had a sneaking fondness for the 
scruples of youth. 

“ I merely mention it — in parenthesis. 
Our esteemed host, in spite of his smatter- 
ing of our language, and a thin coating of 
veneer, is still the Oriental, and that means 
anything and everything.” 

“ Has he many women?” inquired the 
young man. 

“ My dear boy, he is an Oriental.” 

“ And a deuced ugly little specimen too.” 

There was, perhaps, more bitterness in 


132 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

the words than the occasion warranted. 
Ugliness in a Jap did not strike the 
diplomat as being at all singular. Indeed, 
he could not conceive any one making such 
an entirely superfluous remark. 

“ Of course he’s ugly, and if rumour be 
true, he can at times act in conformity 
with his distressing physiognomy.” 

“I am not surprised. He looks a little 
devil. Always reminds me of one of those 
hideous masks which the native artists 
delight in carving. He must have been 
born after a nightmare.” 

“ I believe he was,” said the diplomat. 

Nevertheless, Floyd’s mistrust of Tora 
did not lessen his interest in that noble- 
man’s language. He had discovered that, 
although English is almost universal, it is 
not quite so, and until the happy epoch 
arrives when it will be, it might not be 
disadvantageous to know a few words of 
some of the barbarous languages which are 
still in existence. So he prevailed upon 
hi a uncle to write out a dozen or two of the 


The Yellow Kimono 


133 


commonest phrases or expressions, which, 
coupled with another two or three dozen 
words, completed a very handy vocabulary. 
But the words that seemed to interest 
him most were those intimately connected 
with what old-fashioned folk used to call 
the “ tender passion,” and half-a-dozen other 
pretty but wholly inadequate names. And 
the uncle, thoroughly enjoying this display 
of youthful ingenuousness, the like of which 
did not often illumine the dreary desert of 
political guile, entered into his work with 
an assiduity beyond all praise. 

At parting that night Floyd carefully 
folded the papers on which the precious 
words were written, and deposited them 
deep down in his pocket-book. 

“ I shall look over them in the morning,” 
he said. “I think I shall find them very 
useful.” 

The elder man smiled. It was well for 
old fogies that their youth should be 
reviewed from time to time. 

Three hours later the young man was 


134 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

still heroically striving to grapple with a 
sleepy brain; but in this instance nature 
was stronger than will, though even that 
could not wholly subdue the spirit. In 
his dreams he paid sweet compliments in 
Japanese to the blushing Omi-San. 

The next morning he was up early and 
about; but though he haunted the pre- 
cincts of the rose garden, he caught but 
one glimpse of Omi-San in the distance, 
or rather, he caught a glimpse of a yellow 
kimono which looked like hers. Whether 
she saw him or not he could not say, but 
when he had reached the big clump of 
rhododendrons behind which she had 
vanished, she was nowhere to be seen. 

Not a little angry with himself, he 
retraced his steps, and doubt as to the 
wisdom or propriety of the course he had 
adopted assailed him. What if she was 
one of the women of whom his uncle had 
spoken ? This made him pause — gave 
him time to catch his breath. Well, and 
even so — what then ? It was not an 


The Yellow Kimono 135 

entirely satisfactory answer that he gave 
himself. The problem had merely been 
guessed at, not solved. After all, why 
should he attempt to solve it ? Things 
have a way of righting themselves — some- 
times. Sometimes they don’t. Well, it 
is not for youth to waste its glory in 
wondering what might be. Regret must 
come with the years, and wisdom brings 
not happiness. Eat, drink, and be merry — 
was there ever a wiser philosophy? 

There is something desperately splendid 
in youth, for whom the words “ fear ” and 
“ failure ” do not exist, to whom death 
itself is a grotesque and jocular monster. 
Floyd was not one lightly to abandon an 
idea, especially one which had seized him 
with a grip which was almost a challenge. 
Tora, nor fifty Toras, should not thwart 
him. As for the woman — well, a woman’s 
resource is practically unlimited. And 
things have a way of righting themselves, 
you know. 

That afternoon, as before, he went out 


136 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

into the grounds to smoke a cigar, leaving 
his uncle and the illustrious Tora deeply 
engrossed in a game of shogi, or Japanese 
chess. As both were good players, and as 
the game was progressing at a snail’s pace, 
he thanked heaven for the bewildering 
complications of the board. It would give 
him breathing space. 

With but a slight pretence of deviation, 
he went towards the rose garden, passed 
through the trellis-gate, and then paused. 
Looking at his watch, he saw that it was 
within a few minutes of the hour in which 
he first saw her, and in a vague sort of way 
he mused. Would she be there? Why 
should she be? His modesty would not 
permit him to answer the question. Or, 
since he was there, why should he not ask, 
Why should she not be? Yet there were 
many reasons. To him it was likely to prove 
rather an interesting adventure. The reck- 
less spirit of youth urged him to see it 
through — just for the fun of the thing. 
But, if some of his imaginings were to be 


The Yellow Kimono 137 

realised, it would be anything but fun for 
her. 

He looked rather guiltily past the sun’s 
shoulder and slowly walked on, and 
presently, in a little bower of roses, he 
caught a glimpse of the yellow kimono. 
Stealthily he approached and peered 
through the leaves, and he felt his nerves 
thrill in a strangely unaccountable fashion. 

She was sitting, cross-legged, upon the 
grass; over her knees lay a long, printed 
scroll, which had evidently failed in 
interest. Her eyes were, apparently, fixed 
on a certain tree, the branches of which 
towered highest in the sky ; but the 
watcher doubted if she saw the tree at all ; 
he doubted if she saw anything but some 
vague picture of the brain. Not a move- 
ment saw he of eyelid or of limb — the rise 
and fall of her bosom was almost imper- 
ceptible. A quaintly costumed doll she 
seemed, vaguely suspicious of life. 

He drew closer, and yet she stirred not. 
Her dream was most profound, and not, if 


1 38 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

he might judge from a certain ineffable 
sadness which, like a shadow, played about 
her eyes, tinged with the rosiest of hues. A 
momentary throb of compunction made him 
pause. Then he flung his head back and 
stood before her. 

At the sight of him she started, blushed, 
and began to tremble violently; but he 
knelt beside her and took her hand in his, 
and in a broken, stumbling manner, with- 
out sense or sequence, he repeated over 
and over again the pretty words and 
phrases his uncle had written down for 
him the night before. And from the eyes 
of Omi-San he drove the shadow of 
melancholy, and her bosom, rising and 
falling rapidly, throbbed with the new 
life which had so suddenly filled it to 
overflowing. And the sunshine flooded 
the roses with a deeper gold, and the 
sweet-scented air whispered a thousand 
bewildering secrets in her ears. 

The visit to Tora ended all too quickly, 
but Elovd had no intention of letting the 


The Yellow Kimono 


139 


acquaintanceship lapse for lack of inter- 
course. The Count’s estate was only 
some seven or eight miles from the 
capital. A couple of rickshaw coolies could 
easily do the distance in an hour. When 
Floyd thought he wanted some fresh air, 
he usually found himself bowling along 
the road that led to Tora’s house, and if 
the illustrious owner did not happen to be 
in — well, it was a great misfortune, but he 
would call again soon. And it was really 
remarkable how many times he did happen 
to call while the Count was away, and 
though, on such occasions, he appeared 
profoundly distressed, he usually solaced 
himself with a turn in the beautiful grounds. 

These constant visits of the Englishman 
at length gave the honourable Tora some 
food for reflection. He learnt something 
of the story of the rose garden, and that 
morning his household knew that he was 
to set out at midday for Osaka. 

That night Omi-San waited impatiently 
for the coming of her lover. She was 


140 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

restless — ill at ease. Excitedly she paced 
up and down her room; occasionally she 
went to the window, and, drawing it back 
an inch or so, peered out. But at last 
came the tap on the shutter, the low call, 
“ Omi-San,” and she was in his arms. 
Then there was a sudden commotion 
round about, lights flashed in the room, 
and her lord and master, Tora, stood 
before her, his ugly face livid with rage, 
his limbs trembling with excitement. 

Without speaking, he turned and 
beckoned to the two servants who held 
the lights, and they immediately advanced 
towards Omi-San. She saw the move- 
ment, her face blanched with terror, and, 
recoiling before them, she flung herself at 
Floyd’s feet, and in a voice that rang with 
acutest fear she implored his protection. 

Now, whatever virtues he may have 
lacked, courage was not one of them. 
He was quick to perceive that he had got 
himself in a tight corner, and just as quick 
to act. He had only his hands to aid him, 


The Yellow Kimono 


141 

but in a trice they went up, and presently 
one of them shot out like a streak of light- 
ning, and the man nearest him staggered 
heavily backward, the candle, meteor-like, 
flashing through the firmament of the 
chamber. Omi-San, doubled in a heap 
upon the floor, buried her face in her 
hands and moaned aloud. 

Tora’s hand flew to his pocket, but he 
as suddenly withdrew it. Then he went 
and opened the door through which Floyd 
had entered, and, turning to him, said the 
one word — 

“ Go!” 

He looked at the Count, and across his 
face flickered the shades of obstinacy and 
irresolution. He knew not what to do ; yet 
wisdom would not be denied. 

“ Count Tora,” he said, “ I apologise 
freely for my presence here to-night. I 
frankly admit that I am entirely in the 
wrong, and I am perfectly willing to 
assume the consequences. For what has 
happened I, and I only, am to blame. 


142 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

This woman was a child in my hands. I 
assume responsibility for her also.” 

“Your honourable generosity shall not 
be put to the test,” sneered the Count. 
“ I have no need of you or your illustrious 
virtues.” Then, once more, he pointed 
sternly to the door. 

Floyd flushed hotly; his eyes shone with 
fury and dogged impotence. 

“ I will not go,” he said, “ until you have 
forgiven her also.” 

“ I have not forgiven you yet,” was the 
reply. “ Go, before I forget who and what 
you are.” 

“Go, go!” wailed the unhappy woman. 
“0 my lord!” 

The plaintive cry went to his heart and 
stirred every manly impulse. She was all 
the world to him at that moment. He 
sprang forward with arms outstretched, but 
the servants barred his way. He looked 
into their grim, impassive faces. These 
men were machines guided by the voice of 
the master yonder. 


The Yellow Kimono 


143 


Recognising the hopelessness of his 
position, he turned once more to Tora. 

“ Let us talk/’ he said. “ The folly and 
the blame are mine. I want you to 
remember that.” 

“ I shall not forget.” 

“ If anything I can do ” 

“ You can do nothing. I am weary. 
To-morrow we will talk.” 

“ To-morrow, be it. Until then you 
will forget? ” 

“ I will forget.” 

He looked about the room, at the faces 
of Tora and his servants, at the thin 
partitions behind which many more might 
eagerly be awaiting the signal. Then his 
eyes rested for a moment on the crouch- 
ing, moaning figure of the woman. 

“ Farewell, Omi-San,” he said. “ I will 
come again to-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow! 0 my lord! ” 

All through the long run back to the 
eity her voice haunted him; he heard it 
above the rattle of his rickshaw ; it 


144 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

palpitated in the air like the wailing of a 
lost soul. “To-morrow! 0 my lord! ” 
Early the next day he presented himself 
at the gates of Tora’s estate, and was there 
handed a letter by an obsequious retainer. 
“ What is this ? ” he said. 

“ Had not your excellency better read it 
and see?” 

With nervous fingers he tore open the 
envelope, and these words, written in 
English, met his gaze — 

“ Count Tora is sorry to deprive him- 
self of the honour of once more basking 
in the illustrious presence of Mr. Floyd, 
but the promised interview is quite 
unnecessary now, as Omi-San died suddenly 
last night.” 


CALLING 


Where the window of the day 
Floods with living light the earth; 
On the shores of Tedo Lay, 

Where my fancy loves to stray , 

She of whom I dream had birth . 
And I hear soft voices still 
Calling aver sea and hill. 

And like music through my brain 
Steals the ecstasy of sound ; 

And the longing comes again , 

Longing wrought of joy and pain , 
Pain and joy alike profound. 

For the voices tender be 
Calling over hill and sea . 

And I see a sweet girl face 

Crowned with blossoms of the plum ; 
And I feel the close embrace, 

Watch the smiles each other chase , 
Hear a soft voice murmur “Come.” 
Far across the throbbing sea 
That low murmur reaches me. 

In the East a shaft of light, 

And in her heart a shining rose: 
And stars that are forever bright. 
Perfume of the day and night 

Through my senses cor/ies and goes. 
And throughout it all the dumb, 

Low , sweet voice that whispers “ Come.” 


L 
























































■ 




































SINGAPURA 


Captain Michael Barryton, the master of 
the s.s. Samarang, was a lank, easy-going 
Irishman with a ruddy face, a shock of red 
hair, and a decided penchant for his great 
compatriot, John Jameson. When he 
engaged me at the shipping-office he was 
drunk; he was anything but sober the day 
he received me on board his noble packet, 
and on the afternoon we put to sea he 
was drunkest of all. But a too liberal 
indulgence of strong spirits mattered little 
or nothing to him, for drunk or sober his 
navigation was equally faulty. That also 
was a mere detail, though it surprised many 
to see how successfully his incompetence 
waged war with fate. For he was one of 
that small army to whom is entrusted 
valuable property and valueless lives. 


148 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

Robinson meets Brown in the street and 
says, “ Ah, I see the Samar ang is back 
again/' “ Dear me," cries Brown, to whom 
the good luck of Barryton is a source of 
wonder and distress ; “ when is that old tub 
going to the bottom ? ” They know she will 
go down some day and take her worthy 
master with her. But the delay is, to say 
the least of it, somewhat exasperating. 

I frankly admit that Captain Barryton 
did not impress me; I am also at liberty 
to express the belief that he never tried to 
do so. I knew that some exceedingly 
queer fish infest the China Seas, and in 
that respect my new skipper was not so 
distinctly unique as he might be ; but 
hitherto it had not been my good fortune 
to sail with them, and if I did not duly 
admire the man, I can only apologise for 
my lack of enthusiasm by the novelty of 
my surroundings. There was undoubtedly 
a breeziness about him which, to the 
uninitiated, was so like a sailor; though I 
fear he caught it from his particular brand, 


Singapura 


T 49 


and not from the ocean breezes. Still, 
that was of little moment: the effect was 
there. His friends said he was a “good 
sort,” and, in admitting so much, had no 
idea they were taking away his character. 

When I joined the Samar ang as chief 
mate, she was about to proceed to 
Nagasaki for coal; for she was what is 
known in sea parlance as a “ tramp,” and 
went wherever she was likely to pick up 
a cargo. After my arrival on board I 
naturally seized the earliest opportunity of 
making myself acquainted wdth a few facts 
concerning the ship, and the particular 
idiosyncrasies of my shipmates. And in 
this I was singularly fortunate, as from the 
chief engineer, a worthy but garrulous 
North-countryman, I learnt much that I 
required — and something more. 

According to the man of cranks and 
wheels, Captain Barryton was an exceed- 
ingly good sort of fellow, and was extremely 
affable for one in such an exalted position. 
Indeed, upon occasion, he had been known 


150 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

to drink even with the engineers. This 
marks the extreme limit of the boundaries 
of condescension, and I duly appreciated 
such heroic magnanimity. It is, perhaps, 
unnecessary to say that the captain was 
not overburdened with sense or sentiment; 
but still he was a man who might have 
risen in the world had he not taken to 
whisky — and a wife. 

Not unnaturally, this vague suggestion 
led me to suppose that things were not 
exactly ship-shape with Mrs. Barryton ; 
and when I very delicately hinted as much, 
the engineer favoured me wdth a look 
ambiguously wise. For it meant many 
things, proving a source of infinite specu- 
lation. Yet the implied colloquialism, 
“ What do you think ? ” was painfully 
evident. 

I felt my way with a nicety beyond all 
praise; but, having gone so far, the fellow 
grew alert, even suspicious, and I laboured 
under the disadvantage of being practi- 
cally an unknown quantity. But I oiled 


Singapura 


151 

his bearings in the most artful manner, 
and presently they began to run smoothly. 

“ Don’t you know who she is ? ” he asked. 

" How should I ? I never heard of 
Captain Barryton until I joined the 
Samarang” 

“But you’ve heard of herV ’ The 
engineer put the question with a due 
appreciation of its value. 

“ Never.” 

He looked me blankly in the face. 
Never heard of her? Was it possible? 
I could see that he was sorry for me in my 
benighted state, but out of regard for my 
feelings he did not openly express his pity. 

“ Then you don’t know what she is ? ” he 
asked incredulously. 

“ What she is ? ” Upon my soul I 
neither knew nor cared. What should or 
could she be? 

He looked up and down the deck before 
answering. Then, sinking his voice to a 
whisper, he said, “We call her Singapura.” 

“ Why?” 


152 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

A look of infinite pity swept his ill- 
shaped face. 

“ Why,” he echoed, “ because she’s a 
Malay, of course.” 

I saw the connection in a moment. 
Singapura, or Sinhapura, which is, per- 
haps, more correct, is the native word for 
Singapore. 

“So madam is a native, eh?” 

“ Yes ; don’t you think it’s rather 
rum ? ” 

“ I don’t fancy it myself. But has he 
really married her?” 

“ He has. We had our doubts at first — 
but it’s gospel.” 

“Well, good luck to him. He’s a bold 
man.” 

“ Oh, she’s handsome enough for him, 
or for anybody,” he answered sturdily ; 
“but the devil’s in her — in her eyes, in 
every movement of her heavenly figure. 
I’ll tell you what it is,” he added impres- 
sively, “she can just twist the old man 
round her dainty little finger.” 


Singapura 


153 


I thought the engineer envied the 
captain that exquisite species of torture; 
but I said rather bluntly, “ Rather a come- 
down, isn’t it ? 55 

“ Ah, well, poor man,” said he con- 
solingly, “he finds a power of comfort in 
the bottle. And she’s a spanker.” 

His enthusiasm caused me to look 
closer, and I saw that which the engineer 
had no intention of showing. 

“ She is with him, of course ? ” 

“She always travels with us, but she 
never stays on board while we are in port. 
At the present time she is putting up at 
the Hong-Kong Hotel. Trust the missis 
for doing the thing in style.” 

“A Malay woman,” said I. 

“But a spanker, and as handsome as 
paint, and don’t you forget it,” he replied, 
with what I considered to be an unneces- 
sary display of warmth. I looked again and 
was sorry for him, for I guessed that he 
had failed to realise his hopes. Yet in an 
instant, how he was up in arms! No 


154 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

doubt he aspired highly, but luck might 
change. After all, she might possess that 
singular feminine characteristic which 
revels in the hideous. If so, there was 
hope for the engineer. 

Though caring little one way or the 
other, I nevertheless often found myself 
thinking of Singapura; and as our day of 
sailing drew near, and the fellows began to 
talk about her, I experienced a mild sort 
of excitement in anticipating her advent. 
And yet her coming was nothing to me, 
and as I handed her up the gangway, I 
experienced none of that inward throbbing 
which seemed almost to lay the engineer 
prostrate. She appeared to be a fine 
figure of a woman, and her complexion 
was such that at the distance of a dozen 
paces she might easily have passed for a 
European. Her dress was singularly neat 
and effective, and her terai hat became 
her as it becomes few women. Had I 
not been warned, I should never have 
guessed her nationality. 


Singapura 


155 


My disappointment was curiously acute. 
I freely admit that I had expected some- 
thing very different. What? Who shall 
say? At the same time, I thought the 
engineer was a fool, and that the fool had 
fooled me. She smiled and said “ Thank 
you” very prettily as I led her on to the 
deck, and I saw her teeth gleam and her 
eyes shine. Lustrous eyes, dark as night 
with the fire of stars in them. 

Soon after we cleared the Ly-ee- 
moon Pass, and were steaming northward 
at the rate of nine knots an hour. The 
captain, who had bidden a convivial good- 
bye to his numerous friends on shore, then 
set the course and went below. Drunk or 
sober mattered nothing to him. He could 
have felt his way along the coast blind- 
folded. 

I did not have the honour of seeing or 
speaking to his wife any more that day; 
but the next morning she was up early and 
about, and after hanging round the quarter- 
deck for a time, she came forward and 


156 Rose and Chrysanthemum 


mounted the bridge. I raised my cap 
and said “ Good morning ” in my very 
best manner, for you must remember that 
a handsome woman is a handsome woman, 
be she Malay or white, and when she 
attains the dignity of a captain’s wife, she 
is not to be dumped in the category of 
lesser mortals. She honoured me with an 
exceedingly pretty inclination of the head 
and a quick look from her wonderful eyes, 
and having received as much attention as 
I merited, I turned and continued to keep 
a remarkably sharp look-out. Nevertheless, 
I thought she carried her head well, and 
that she had a gloriously free step. The 
engineer was not far wrong when he said 
she was as handsome as paint. It was a 
homely figure, but it expressed his admira- 
tion in full, and conveyed to his mind an 
image entirely beautiful. And though 
without much difficulty I might find a more 
elegant phrase, I doubt if it would better 
express the impression left upon one by her 
ladyship. She was as handsome as paint. 


Singapura 


157 


And yet,, singular as it may seem, I still 
marvelled at the skipper marrying her. For, 
beauty as she was, she was only a native 
beauty, and men in the East don’t usually 
honour such. It may be wrong. I hold a 
brief for neither side; but I have my own 
opinion. Contact with the whites may 
enable her to ape their manners; but a 
thousand layers of veneer cannot change 
the blood. There is a gulf between the 
white and the coloured which no philosophy 
can bridge. 

Eager as was my look-out, I kept it with 
my eyes only. The brain which should 
have guided those eyes and told them 
what they saw communicated no infor- 
mation; for it was busy with the woman 
whose presence I felt, and whom I knew 
was watching me. But I persevered with 
a persistence worthy of the utmost 
admiration, and, even when I walked to her 
end of the bridge, I did so in a manner of 
much unconcern. Truth to tell, I was not 
a little annoyed. I felt that I was a fool, 


1 58 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

and was angry in consequence. Against 
my will this woman was asserting her 
influence, and I knew not how much 
vanity was responsible for the state of my 
nerves, and I felt contemptible accordingly. 
What the deuce had Hecuba to do with 
me, or I with Hecuba? 

Presently, thinking, no doubt, that I 
would not presume to address a lady of 
her exalted rank, she came over to me and 
began to talk. A junk about a quarter of a 
mile ahead, which seemed determined to 
make us run it down, afforded the opening. 
She laughed excitedly as we skimmed by. 

“ A warning,” I said. 

She shook her head. 

“ The Chinese never take warning.” 

I wondered how many people do, and 
quietly expressed the thought. She laughed 
again, showing her beautiful little teeth. I 
had a potent warning before me at the 
moment, only I didn’t know it. Then, the 
ice once broken, we chatted away with a 
right good will. Though she spoke with 


Singapura 1 59 

* 

a curious, hollow accent, her English was 
excellent, and interesting. 

As she was, comparatively speaking, a 
child of Nature, she did not suffer from the 
reproach of being excessively ladylike — a 
term which not infrequently carries with it 
a suggestion the reverse of complimentary; 
but as these Eastern peoples are rarely 
vulgar, she gained somewhat by the loss 
of such a distinction. However, she was 
good enough to bombard me with a host 
of pertinent questions, evincing a curiosity 
concerning my antecedents which I 
naturally regarded as extremely flattering. 

In the clear light of the early day she 
did not seem quite as handsome as I had 
thought her. Her complexion had been 
stained by Nature to an interesting brown 
which did not altogether appeal to me, 
though the skin itself was so clear that I 
seemed to see the red blood leaping 
underneath. The black brows sharply 
accentuated the whiter skin of her fore- 
head, while her eyelids seemed weary of 


160 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

bearing the long, silken lashes. The eyes 
themselves were full, but so intensely 
black that I appeared to look straight into 
illuminated night. The nose was good, 
the mouth full-lipped and perhaps a trifle 
large. Certes! When I come to catalogue 
her charms, I find the engineer was not so 
much beside the mark. 

After that she paid me many a visit 
during my watch, sometimes at an hour 
which, prudent man as I was, caused me 
considerable anxiety. But she made light 
of my fears, and I was always too weak to 
treat a lady harshly. Barryton was asleep ; 
no one saw but the man at the wheel, and 
he apparently saw nothing. And it was 
really marvellous how swiftly the time 
passed while she was on the bridge; and 
life was not so gay aboard of us that I dared 
turn my back on a little relaxation. 

Well, the old Samar ang plodded steadily 
on until at last we dropped anchor in the 
Bay of Nagasaki. Then the captain pulled 
himself together and prepared to conduct 


Singapura 161 

his business like a man of affairs; and as 
he was shrewd enough when sober, he 
probably found little difficulty in imposing 
upon strangers. But for the first time in 
the recollection of the chief engineer, 
Singapura lived on the ship in port. And 
this was doubly strange, as the loading of 
coal makes a ship perfectly uninhabitable. 
True, she went ashore every day at about 
eleven o’clock, but she always returned at 
sunset, and never left again that night. 

But if the other officers were surprised 
at this, I cannot with a free conscience 
say that to me it was a very great mystery. 
And yet, having no wish to write myself 
down a coxcomb, I dare not say what was 
passing in my mind. One may easily 
produce a wrong impression, and I am not 
heroic enough to defy wrong impressions. 
But I was not utterly devoid of all power 
of observation, though some people seem 
to think that a hero should be. 

I saw much of her during those quiet 
nights. After the heat and bustle of the 

M 


1 62 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

day, tired out in body and mind, it was 
pleasant to sit in the cool of the evening 
with a cheroot, a glass, and a pretty 
woman. Barry ton rarely came off until 
after midnight, so that no little unpleasant- 
ness ever broke the harmony of our 
genial environment. Occasionally the 
chief engineer joined us, but not for long. 
She used to freeze up whenever he drew 
near ; and, try as he would, he could 
scarcely prevail upon her to return him a 
civil answer. And this was sad, because 
a word from her, a look, would have 
made him her abject slave. 

I see it now. It was playing with fire; 
but I was not sufficiently vain to imagine 
that there could be a conflagration unless 
I heaped on the fuel and stirred the 
embers. And that I was determined not 
to do, and though I found her an extremely 
agreeable companion, I never forgot to 
treat her with due courtesy. True, I was 
not blind, though she must have thought 
me so, seeing me ignore the number of 


Singapura 163 

excellent openings that were offered for a 
better understanding. 

Nevertheless, they were pleasant nights, 
and as I think of them now I reproduce 
the whole scene, feel the peculiar atmos- 
phere with its cool smell of the sea. 
Again I see the ships whose yellow riding- 
lights look like great golden stars swinging 
low in the sky: the moon bursting away 
back over the hills: the stars glimmering 
deep down into the sea. And then round 
about, and all over the still water, suddenly 
comes the sound of the ships’ bells as the 
men on watch strike the hour. The whole 
air is full of bells which the night and the 
water soften arid mellow to an infinite 
sweetness. And the strange light sets deep 
shadows round the woman’s eyes, out of 
which strange flashings come and go, and 
her voice with its low, cooing sighs like 
sweet music that is but half understood. 

Well, we finished loading at last, and 
without any unnecessary delay set our nose 
southward. But had I hoped that the 


164 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

presence of Captain Barryton would act as 
a check upon his wife, I was speedily to be 
undeceived : though I had grown extremely 
prudent, I found, as so many have found 
before me, the difficulty of retracing my 
steps. 

Then came that which, knowing the 
nature of the woman, I feared, yet half 
expected. 

It was on the morning of the third day 
out, about that hour which trembles 
between daylight and darkness. I had 
not long come up from below, and no 
thought of the captain’s wife was in my 
mind. For I was thinking of a little girl 
with sweet eyes and a dainty head, who 
was waiting patiently for that letter which 
was to say, “ Dearest, I have just been 
appointed to a command. There is no 
reason why we should not marry now. 
Will you come to me, O my love? ” I 
was thinking of this, I say, leaning on the 
rail of the bridge and picturing the flushed 
gladness of that sweet face, when I 


Singapura 


165 

felt a hand laid lightly on my shoulder. 
Turning round, I encountered the burning 
eyes of the Malay woman. Though I had 
a presentiment of impending evil, I think 
I betrayed no sign of it. 

“ Good morning/' said I. “ You are up 
very early.” 

“ I have not been to bed,” she 
answered. 

“ You are ill ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I am so sorry. Can I do anything? ” 

“Yes.” But this time her voice was so 
hoarse and muffled that I could scarcely 
distinguish the word. 

“ Teh me.” 

She came close to me and laid her hands 
on my shoulders, and I knew that every 
pulse of her was throbbing with madness. 
Her beautiful mouth quivered like a 
whipped child’s; there was a starved long- 
ing in her look which was absolutely 
painful to witness. 

“ Look into my eyes, Stanbridge. Close, 


1 66 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

close/ 5 she added excitedly, drawing my 
face down to hers. “What do you see 
there ? 55 And all the time her hot breath 
was burning my face, and her eyes shone 
so luridly that I dared not look into them. 

“ You are excited — feverish/ 5 I began 
hesitatingly, withdrawing from her hands, 
the palms of which burnt like fire. But I 
felt a fool, and half afraid in the bargain. 

“Feverish, yes, Stanbridge — feverish! ” 
and she laughed madly as she spoke. 

I backed farther from the man at the 
wheel, who stole an occasional glance in 
our direction. She followed, and in the 
starboard corner of the bridge brought me 
to bay. 

“ Look in my eyes, Stanbridge/ 5 she 
repeated once again. “Tell me, do you 
know that fever? It burns my heart; it 
burns my eyes till they ache; it burns my 
brain till I feel that I am going mad. 
Stanbridge, Stanbridge! 55 She flung her 
arms about me; she pressed her burning 
face into my breast. 


Singapura 


167 


I candidly admit that never was I in 
such an awkward predicament. Being 
unaccustomed to a situation so embarrass- 
ing, I was at a complete loss as to the 
better course to pursue. To encourage her 
would have been fatal; not to encourage 
her would probably have an equally 
disastrous effect. I had not here a woman 
of my own race to deal with, but a wild, 
passionate creature in whom there was no 
power of restraint. A nature such as hers 
would overleap every obstacle; no thin or 
thick coating of veneer could check the flow 
of savage blood. If I valued my peace of 
mind I dared not spurn her ; if I submitted 
to her influence it meant being ruled like a 
slave. Nor could I temporise, for fear she 
should mistake my meaning. Altogether I 
was in a position requiring extreme circum- 
spection, and I inwardly cursed myself for a 
blundering fool. 

And yet I feared that to temporise was 
the only course open to me. This was no 
ordinary woman with the rigid, con- 


1 68 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

ventional notions of right and wrong, but 
a child of nature, who threw herself madly, 
blindly, upon the bosom of her mother. 
Ear from subduing her wild nature, 
civilisation had but taught it the extremity 
of passion. 

So with soft words and gentle pleadings 
I sought to pacify her, and though she 
listened with commendable restraint to my 
feeble argument, her lips curled disdain- 
fully whenever I mentioned the words 
“ husband ” and “ duty/ 5 I confess that 
I could not say much in honour of the 
husband, while duty was a nebulous sort 
of thing which absolutely had no existence 
for her. Duty was synonymous with 
inclination, and that swept her forward 
with a perfect whirlwind of passion and 
regret. There was but the one awful 
cry— a cry which came from the pro- 
foundest depths of a soul pregnant with 
remorse, and dread, and hope. “I love 
you, Stanbridge! Love me, love me! 55 
Unfortunately, I was unable to accede to 


Singapura 169 

her request, but I hadn’t the courage to 
say so. 

I blamed myself consumedly for this 
tragic development of the situation. I 
ought to have foreseen what would happen. 
Perhaps I did in a way. Perhaps, too, 
my prudence had been at fault ; but, 
heaven! can a man be expected to study 
all these things while looking into a pair 
of bright eyes? What kind of man would 
he be, I wonder? Well, it might be 
playing with fire, but the pastime has its 
fascination. 

The danger lay in the strange nature of 
the woman. There was no telling what 
she would do next. So, to pacify her, I 
explained that my religion forbade me 
to love her, as she already belonged to 
another. 

“And if I had not him ?” she said, 
pointing away aft. 

Well, it would have been all the same to 
me, but I dared not admit as much. I’m 
afraid I did not fully appreciate such 


170 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

an intensely emotional young woman. I 
misread her entirely if wisdom would ever 
govern her impulse. No drop of cold 
blood leavened the whirling torrent which 
urged her onward. She only knew the 
two extremes of love and hate, and 
between them her wild soul was buffeted. 

So, weakly temporising once more, I 
gave her to understand that Captain 
Barryton was an insuperable bar to a 
closer intimacy between us, and I con- 
gratulated myself on having devised such 
an excellent reason. I did not love the 
old man, but I was forced to admit that 
he had an excuse for his existence. 

She laid her cheek against, my breast 
and thought for several moments. Then 
she pulled my face down to hers and 
treated me as though I already belonged 
to her. The deuce take it ! I never 
thought I was such a muff ! 

I saw her no more that day, which in a 
way was a relief, and yet almost a terror. 
For my mind grew full of some exceed- 


Singapura 


171 

ingly horrid misgivings, fostered by an 
uncertainty which was absolutely intoler- 
able. 

But the next morning, between the 
daylight and the dawn, she came to me 
on the bridge, and, dropping at my feet, 
seized my hands and covered them with 
passionate kisses. 

“ I am yours, Stanbridge,” she whispered, 
“ all yours. Nothing can separate us 
now.” 

“ You cannot be mine — and his” 

“ His ! ” she laughed almost fiercely. 
“ His ! He is gone. I am alone. I hve 
for you, my lord, only for you.” 

“Alone? I do not understand.” 

“ Come with me, Stanbridge, and you 
shall see.” 

She rose, still retaining my hand, smiling 
at me in a way that made her face look 
wonderfully soft and sweet. But though 
she was so solemn, and so calm, I felt every 
nerve of me tingle with apprehension. 

She descended the ladder before me, 


172 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

but, upon reaching the deck, waited with 
outstretched hand. There was no denying 
her sweet, imperious look; so I let her 
take my hand, and in the same calm, 
stately way she led me aft, turning now 
and again to smile on me and to murmur, 
“ For you, Stanbridge — everything for 
you/ 5 

When we reached the deckhouse, which 
the captain had transformed into a cabin, 
she stopped and put her finger to her lips. 
Then, slipping from my side, she walked 
towards the window and looked in. At 
that moment the sun rushed up out of the 
eastern sea. 

When she again turned her face to 
me it had grown deathly pale, and the 
early sun flushed her burning eyes with a 
mad light ; but her lips smiled almost 
sweetly as she beckoned me to her. 

“ Come, Stanbridge, 55 she whispered 
hoarsely. “Look — see what I have done 
for you, my lord ! 55 


Singapura 173 

And I looked, and with a gasp sprang 
back. 

The sunbeams, passing through the 
window, threw a broad shaft of light across 
the dark cabin on to the bunk at the 
farther side, and there I saw the quaintly 
carved handle of a Malay creese sticking 
out above the breast of a man. 

She saw the horror, the loathing in my 
face, and she fell before me and clasped 
my knees, and murmured in a weak, 
whining voice, “ It was all for you, 
Stanbridge — it was all for you.” 

For the moment I forgot what she was. 
I saw only the murderess at my feet, and 
I threw her off with some bitter words. 
But instead of rising in anger, as I thought 
she would, she grovelled in a heap upon 
the deck, sobbing and murmuring, “ What 
have I done, Stanbridge, 0 my love ? ” 

Scarcely knowing what I did or said, I 
left her there and ran forward to waken 
the second mate and acquaint him with 
the tragedy. The chief engineer being 


174 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

next door, I also awoke him, and when 
we three returned to the deck Singapura 
was nowhere to be seen. We went in to 
look at the old man, who lay there bathed 
in the glory of the early sunshine. The 
knife had been driven straight into his 
heart, and, by the frightened look of his 
face, death must have come to him with 
awful suddenness. 

As for the woman, no trace of her was 
discovered. As she could kill without 
compunction, so without compunction 
could she die. My bitter words had 
awakened her to a realisation of her 
crime: the sea had quenched for ever the 
fierce flame of her passion. 


NAGASAKI 


A sigh for the memory of glad days gone , 

Days of mirth which have long since sped: 

Life that with youth and with beauty shone — 

And all the past is a thing that's dead : 

And all but remembrance of joy is fled , 

And I in my firmament move alone. 

Here in the city a stranger , I 

Roam amid millions who Icnow me not ; 

Who care not whether I live or die, 

Who see no God in the human blot. 

Man may flourish or man may rot , 

What is it all to the passer-by ? 

Sometimes I wish that the dying sun 

Would bear me away on his burning breast ; 
Launch me onward till day be done , 

And the East looms out of the purple West : 
And the tinkling samisen lulls to rest , 

And the music and laughter blend as one. 

For the day is drear and the wind is keen , 

And the sky shows never a patch of blue ; 

And the faces about me are white and lean , 

And I loathe the things that the worldlings do. 
And life is madness and love untrue , 

Our fate a sigh for what might have been. 

And I sit and dream of the things that were , 

And tread the path to the Shinto shrine ; 

And my senses throb with the perfumes rare , 

That madden the blood like a draught of wine. 
But the days that were shall no more be mine — 
I have gathered my harvest wheat and tare. 

























































































MISS CHERRY-BLOSSOM 


We had frequently warned Brading to be 
more circumspect in his dealings with Miss 
Cherry-Blossom, for it was an open 
secret to the habitual frequenters of Ninko’s 
chciya , or tea-house, that Kamakura, a 
native gentleman of some pretension, had 
looked with condescension upon the pretty 
geisha. But one might as well have offered 
advice to the typhoon, or sought by argu- 
ment to stay its furious course. Brading 
was a good sort, and we all liked him; 
but, while we duly admired his virtues, we 
were not blind to his faults, chief among 
wdiich was a mulish obstinacy. This, 
under certain conditions, is an excellent 
characteristic, and one that has had not 
a little to do with the building up of this 
empire which we are all extolling; but at 


178 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

the same time it may occasionally prove a 
trifle inconvenient. He declared that he 
cared not for Kamakura, nor fifty such, and 
no one doubted him for a moment. Like 
most fellows who have no fear, he had no 
wisdom either. 

What her real name was I never knew, 
and really it was a matter of no conse- 
quence; but we called her Cherry-Blossom 
because we first saw her at Ninko’s in the 
spring when the cherry-bloom abounds 
everywhere, and she wore the sweet flower 
in her hair and in her breast, and looked 
as sweet as the bloom itself. Undoubtedly 
she created a favourable impression on 
our little party, and the questions went 
round, Who is she ? Where does she 
come from? And when the putty-faced 
patron, Ninko, came our way he was 
received with a fusilade of questions. 
Now, Ninko was accounted a shrewd man, 
and it was known that he was as dis- 
reputable as he was shrewd, but his know- 
ledge was great, and the men found him 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 


179 


useful. So they tolerated the rascal as 
creatures are tolerated everywhere; for his 
chaya was esteemed beyond all others, and 
his girls were renowned for their grace and 
beauty. 

The putty-faced one received the attack 
with an ungainly shrugging of the shoulders. 
Their excellencies were pleased to be 
facetious. What was wrong with the girl? 
Did she not sing well? Was not her 
posturing in the dance all that their exalted 
condescension desired? Perhaps she might 
dance for their excellencies in a different 
fashion if — and again the fat shoulders 
rose with a deprecating shrug. He was 
sorry, the rascal, if the girl did not please 
us, as he always strove to propitiate those 
who condescended to honour his con- 
temptible hovel. 

“ I should think she does please us,” 
said Brading, upon whom the girl had 
produced an instantaneous effect. “ Where 
did you get her, Ninko?” 


180 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“ Ninko’s eyes are everywhere,” said one 
of the party. 

“ They need be,” replied the patron, 
with a low bow, “ if I am to please your 
illustrious excellencies.” 

An inscrutable smile played about his 
ugly mouth as he shuffled away. He knew 
his visitors, and they knew him. After all, 
it mattered nothing who she was or where 
she came from. That she had come to the 
chaya was the main fact; that she was 
pretty we had the witness of our own 
senses. 

Brading, rashly impetuous always, 
exceeded himself upon this occasion. 
Never one upon whom the niceties of 
circumspection had any considerable 
influence, he was not inclined to let the 
grass grow beneath his feet. The girl had 
strongly appealed to him, and a closer 
acquaintance with her was the natural out- 
come. So, in spite of the affected protesta- 
tions of the worthy Ninko, he made for the 
door through which the little geisha had 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 1 8 1 

disappeared, and with that determined, 
devil-may-care look on his face which I 
knew so well, passed from sight. 

Ninko brought us some wine and a 
pack of cards. It was not often we came 
to the tea-house now, and when we did 
we strove our best to make merry. Of 
course, though not absolutely enthusiastic 
over the charms of the attendant houris, 
we were not insensible to them; but we 
were more or less old hands, and felt no 
keenness in the game. So we made merry 
in a highly decorous manner, treading, 
perhaps not too lightly, on the corns of 
the estimable Ninko. Usually that putty- 
faced one bore our pleasantries with con- 
summate grace, and a calmness which 
showed a close acquaintance with oppro- 
brium; but to-night, and more especially 
since the disappearance of Brading, he 
seemed hardly his impervious self. Rest- 
less, void of his usual calm indifference, 
he continually threw uneasy glances over 
his shoulder in the direction Brading had 


1 82 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

taken, and I watched him with an interest 
which I might have found it extremely 
difficult to explain. 

“ How long have you had her, Ninko? ” 

He started, and instinctively turned to 
the door. Then his flabby face came back 
my way, and his little eyes honoured me 
with a sharp, penetrating look. I had no 
longer any doubt of the tenor of his 
thoughts. We understood each other, 
Ninko and I. 

“ About three weeks, excellency.” 

“ Well?” 

“She is a good girl, excellency.” 

“ Ninko’s girls are renowned for their 
virtues,” I replied. 

“Your excellency is pleased to recom- 
mend my contemptible hovel.” 

“I speak as I find it, Ninko. And the 
girl ” 

“Not yet, excellency. But the honour- 
able Kamakura ” 

Here he ended abruptly, for at that 
moment the door through which Brading 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 183 

had disappeared was suddenly dashed 
back, and that worthy appeared leading 
the girl, Cherry-Blossom, by the hand. 

Brading’s face was flushed with anger, 
and his eyes flashed darkly; but the girl, 
on the contrary, was very pale, and she 
hung back as though she were an unwilling 
participator in the scene. 

“ Come, come,” he said softly, “ don’t be 
afraid. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, 
but I couldn’t leave you with him.” Then 
he turned to us with a grim smile. “ Boys, 
I have a rival.” 

“My dear Brading, this begins to look 
interesting.” 

“ Devilish! ” said he. 

“Who is it?” 

“A native!” 

The contemptuous tone with which the 
word “native” was uttered conveyed with 
singular directness the idea of the ignominy 
which had fallen upon the white man. 

“ It is his excellency the honourable 


184 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

Kamakura,” explained the obsequious 
Ninko. 

“ And who the thunder is Kamakura ? ” 
cried Brading, swinging suddenly round on 
the patron. 

“ Please, your illustrious condescension, 
the honourable Kamakura is one of our 
old nobility,” said Ninko. 

“Is he? Then please tell him the next 
time he calls that my exalted magnanimity 
had better not be put to the test a second 
time.” 

“ I dare not, excellency. Kamakura 
would raze my chaya to the ground. He 
is rich — powerful. I dare not thwart him.” 

“ You must thwart him — or me.” 

Ninko shrugged his heavy shoulders and 
bowed low. 

“ Excellency, you make my hard lot 
harder.” 

But I saw — though I doubt if Brading 
did — the slightest suspicion of a sneer play 
about the corners of Ninko’s mouth. I 
had no doubt which master would be 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 185 

served. This presumptuous foreigner had 
perforce to be treated civilly to his face, 
otherwise Ninko’s soft flesh might have 
suffered ; and he hated pain this good 
Ninko. But what the foreigner could not 
command was obedience. During his 
interesting career the patron had been 
called upon to smooth the rough edges of 
many difficulties, for he was a great 
diplomat, this excellent Ninko, and that he 
had succeeded his present prosperity 
amply testified. 

For the next week Brading haunted the 
tea-house by day and night, sadly neglect- 
ing his business in his anxiety to keep his 
eye on Cherry-Blossom and the hated rival 
Kamakura. I did my utmost to persuade 
him to abandon the girl, using an argu- 
ment of some singular selfishness and 
common-sense ; but he had got beyond 
argument : common-sense was a thing that 
never appealed to him. The girl liked him 
and he liked her, and were it not for 
Kamakura, aided by that putty-faced 


r 86 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

rascal, Ninko, things would right themselves 
in a trice. 

So he said, and he meant it without 
doubt, and I have no valid reason for 
believing otherwise ; but, nevertheless, I 
sought in a friendly way to dissuade him 
from going on with the affair, the end of 
which might not be foreseen. But at my 
fears he laughed. 

“ Is not an Englishman a match for a 
native ? ” 

“ I hope not — at underhand work. 55 

“ You think this fellow will go to 
extremes ? ” 

“Who can say what a native will do — 
a native, rich, powerful : a rival ? ” 

“Pooh!” said he disdainfully. “If he 
dares to look at my Cherry-Blossom again, 
111 wring his dirty little neck.” 

His Cherry-Blossom! This was excel- 
lent. He spoke as though he were already 
the man in possession. 

Some two or three days after this he came 
into my office, and, dropping into a chair, 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 


187 


looked at me with troubled eyes. Not- 
withstanding the fact that I had shown 
him but scant sympathy in this affair, 
he still honoured me with his confidence, 
and wearisome as that was, I naturally was 
highly gratified at this mark of his esteem. 

“ I suppose you’ll think I’m a fool ? ” he 
began abruptly. 

“ My dear Brading ! ” I protested. 

“Well, perhaps I am, but I think it 
better to be a fool over one thing than 
wise in all.” 

I bowed. There was a subtlety of 
thought here which was not lightly to be 
received. 

“ What have you been doing now ? ” 

“ It’s like this,” he said. “ You know, 
of course, that she’s bound apprentice to 
Ninko?” 

“One naturally would have imagined as 
much.” 

“ Well, she cannot cancel her in- 
dentures for five years.” 

“And so ?” 


1 88 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“And so I’ve made him an offer” 

“What! To buy her out?” 

“ Precisely.” 

“ And it will cost you ? ” 

“A thousand yen ” (dollars). 

“ My dear fellow, are you sure that you 
are not buying the tea-house ? ” 

He looked annoyed. 

“ I knew you’d call me a fool. But 
lord! Osman, if you’d only heard her beg 
and pray. She loves me, you see, and she 
is afraid of Ninko and Kamakura.” 

“Ay, Kamakura — what of him?” 

“Still keen as a hound on the scent. 
But I think we’ve doubled on him this 
time. Ninko will cancel her indentures 
for a thousand dollars. To-morrow she 
shall be a free woman.” 

His enthusiasm was not infectious, for 
such a mad-brained scheme did not appeal 
to me. Of all the follies he had ever 
committed, and their name was legion, 
this was the most astounding. 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 189 

“You will excuse me, Brading,” I said, 
“but you are an idiot / 5 

He laughed gaily. 

“ I knew you would say that ; but, man, 
you forget — we love each other / 5 

“Pooh! Take my advice: keep your 
money and let Kamakura take the girl. A 
thousand dollars for a Jap! Why, you 
could buy half the country for that sum / 5 

“ I don’t w^ant half the country , 55 he said, 
“ I only want to free one woman from the 
life she loathes. I would do it if it cost me 
ten times as much . 55 

I believe the idiot spoke without exagger- 
ation. He was just the one who would 
delight in such a magnificent piece of 
folly; for, crack-brained as he was, there 
was always something chivalrous in his 
disposition; and though at first he might 
have been tempted merely to rival 
Kamakura, I believed that a nobler senti- 
ment had gradually been awakened. 

That he was serious, however, I was 
shortly to see, for on the noon of the next. 


190 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

day he came to me, his face beaming with 
satisfaction, and carried me off to Ninko’s. 
He wanted a witness to the transaction, 
and he did me the honour to say that I 
was the only man in the settlement whom 
he felt that he could freely take into his 
confidence. Of course, I bowed and 
blushed. When one is unused to such 
pretty trifles they are apt to prove slightly 
embarrassing. 

Upon arriving at the tea-house we at 
once demanded the presence of the 
illustrious patron, a demand which the 
girls who came round us received with some 
lack of composure. Indeed, I noticed 
that they glanced somewhat mysteriously 
at each other, and that furtive looks were 
turned in the direction of my companion. 

He, apparently oblivious of this, peered 
here, there, and everywhere, searching 
intently for some one who did not appear. 

“Where is Cherry-Blossom?” he said. 

The girls made no answer, but with 
mysterious looks sidled off. Brading’s 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 191 

eyes followed them, and something like 
alarm fluttered in his face. 

Presently Ninko came, more obsequious 
and more pallid than usual, and in a tone 
of infinite humility wanted to know to 
what he was indebted for the honour of 
our illustrious visit. 

Without speaking, Brading drew a roll 
of bank-notes from his pocket and counted 
out a thousand dollars. These he laid 
before the patron. 

“ There,' ” he said. “A thousand yen” 

Ninko looked bewildered. 

“ Yes, excellency, I see. A thousand yen. 
It is a large sum.” 

“ That is my affair ” 

“Yes, indeed, excellency.” But at the 
same time he utterly ignored the money. 

This was curious. I saw a black shade 
sweep suddenly across Brading’s face as 
he looked up at the inscrutable yellow 
man. 

“Well, it’s good money, isn’t it?” 

“ Evidently, excellency.” 


192 Rose and Chrysanthemum 


“ Then why don’t you take it and 
produce the indentures ? ” 

“ The indentures, excellency ? ” 

Ninko’s look grew puzzled. It was 
painfully apparent that the poor man had 
not the least notion of what my friend was 
driving at. 

Brading rose and bent across the table, 
and I saw the anger smouldering in his 
eyes. 

“ You dog,” he said in a low voice, 
“ you’ve not sold me ? ” 

The patron shrugged his heavy shoulders. 
It was not the first time he had been 
assailed impolitely. 

“ Your excellency will explain? ” 

“You told me that you would cancel 
the indentures of Cherry-Blossom for a 
thousand yen. There is the money. I 
suppose, rascal as you are, you are capable 
of fulfilling a business contract ? ” 

“ I have that reputation, excellency — 
when I enter into one.” 

“ How ? ” cried Brading, “ when you 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 193 

enter into one? What the deuce do you 
mean ? ” 

“ Merely that your excellency, who 
does not speak our language quite per- 
fectly, has made a slight mistake in taking 
for a contract what was merely thrown out 
as a suggestion/ 5 

This was rather clever of the rogue, 
though a palpable lie. Brading knew 
Japanese well enough to make no mistake 
of that sort. 

“ Ninko, 55 he said sternly, “ this will not 
do. You must not trifle with me. You 
know perfectly well there was no mistake. 
A thousand yen was the sum. Here is the 
money — where is the girl ? 55 

Brading’s face was growing set and 
hard. One who deals with the peoples of 
the East must be ready to strike. Other- 
wise, he will get no satisfaction. It is a 
hard lesson to learn. Some men never learn 
it. They go under. 

“Excellency, 55 said the patron, whose 
eyes were as sharp as his wits, “I am 
sorry to say that the girl is gone. 55 

0 


194 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“Gone! What do you mean by gone?” 

He stood erect without flinching. His 
mouth hardened a little, perhaps; but his 
voice was very low and steady. 

“She disappeared last night, excellency, 
and has not been seen since.” 

It was a facer for Brading, but he took 
it splendidly. Advancing softly, he seized 
the patron by the arm. 

“ Don’t lie to me, Ninko. She is gone ? ” 

“Yes, indeed, excellency.” 

“ With whom? ” 

“ Nay, I know not. With some thief, 
no doubt. She was always a bad one. 
But the law shall speak — the law ” 

He stopped suddenly, for those iron 
fingers were eating into his flesh: his arm 
had been twisted nigh to breaking point. 

“With whom went she, Ninko?” 

The voice was cold and steady, but it 
cut like a sword. 

Again he felt those cruel muscles begin 
to stir. He sought to shake himself free, 
but the wrench sent the pain shivering to 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 


195 


his brain. Those iron fingers were as 
remorseless as death. 

“ With Kamakura, excellency. She 
insisted. I ” 

“What did he pay you?” 

“ Fifteen hundred, excellency.” 

Brading dropped the man’s arm, and 
turned to me with a grim smile. 

“ Sold! ” 

“ I’m afraid so.” 

“ What ought I to do with this intoler- 
able rascal ? ” 

“ My dear Brading, business is business.” 

“ Ay, of course,” and he laughed 
bitterly. Then turning to the illustrious 
Ninko, he said, “A shabby trick, Ninko, 
but one I might have expected from such 
a dog.” 

The patron’s heavy shoulders went up 
again. “ Can your excellency’s illustrious 
wisdom blame me? I am a poor man. I 
do not work for pleasure. The exalted 
Kamakura gave fifteen hundred. Your 
excellency only offered one thousand.” 


196 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“Ninko, in spite of all thy wickedness 
and thy knavery, thou art nothing better 
than a fool. I would have given thee two 
thousand yen .” 

Ninko knitted his brows, perplexed ; 
yet something he saw in Brading’s face 
convinced him of his folly. 

“As I am an honest man,” he said, 
“your excellency should have had her in 
spite of Kamakura.” 

He looked with longing eyes at the 
bundle of bank-notes which Brading lifted 
indifferently from the table and dropped 
as carelessly into his pocket. Poor Ninko. 
For the first time in his life he had let his 
private feelings interfere with business. 
There was no knowing what sum Cherry- 
Blossom might not have brought if he had 
only skilfully played off the rivals one 
against the other. 

Well, there was nothing more to do, so, 
without acknowledging Ninko’s obsequious 
salutation, we left the tea-house, and I 
thought the low titter of the girls followed 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 


197 


us down the road. Not that that was of 
much consequence. In my heart I was glad 
Brading had failed. 

But he took the matter not so 
philosophically. That he was really fond 
of the girl I had no doubt ; that his self-love 
was wounded was equally obvious. The two 
combined gave birth to a mad obstinacy. 

We walked on for some time in silence, 
and from the occasional glances I stole at 
his gloomy face I could see the black 
spirit gathering. Never one lightly to 
bear a slight, it would have surprised me 
greatly had he shown no signs of retaliation. 
Discretion formed no part of his com- 
position. His philosophy might be summed 
up in one word — fight. 

After a time he spoke. I knew he 
would, and I accordingly waited for him 
to begin. 

“ Of course, this sort of thing is intoler- 
able." 

“ I don’t see it." 

“ But to be bested by a native ! " 


198 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“Nonsense! The girl went to the best 
market/ 5 

“But she couldn’t help herself. 55 

“ How do you know ? 55 

“I shall find out.” 

“ If you are wise, you will do nothing of 
the kind. Kamakura is of her own race; 
he is rich, unscrupulous. It is not likely 
that he will tolerate the least interference 
on your part. Moreover, my dear Brading 
— between ourselves — is the game worth 
the candle ? ” 

“ You don’t understand, Osman. To you, 
of course, she is nothing — only a native; 
but to me she is much more. You will say 
there are hundreds such, but I do not see 
one other. She believes in me, she loves me, 
and I have promised that Kamakura shall 
not come between us. That promise I must 
keep.” 

I knew it was no use arguing with him ; 
and, truth to tell, I couldn’t. If they were 
really fond of each other, how could I 
counsel abandonment ? I might have 


Miss Cherry-Blossom 


199 


thought the whole affair both sad and 
foolish, but I could not forget that in such 
foolishness a mortal is often blessed. 

We parted with an affectionate shake of 
the hand. He knew what was passing in 
my mind. I read his like a book. I hoped, 
but feared. 

“ Good luck to you, Brading! ” I said. 

“ Thanks, old fellow!” 

About a week after he slipped once 
more into my office, and as he came 
towards me I saw that his face was beam- 
ing with happiness. Evidently the course 
of true love was running smoothly at last. 

“ It’s all right,” he said. “ I’ve seen 
her. She loathes Kamakura ; she loves 
me. It was rather a difficult enterprise. 
She was well guarded, but I promised her, 
you see, and I always like to keep a 
promise — especially to a lady.” He 
laughed softly to himself. The triumph 
over Kamakura was exquisite. But I 
could see that he had something else up 
his sleeve. 


200 Rose and Chrysanthemum 


“ And now ? ” I asked, for this seemed 
to me but the beginning of the end, not 
the end itself. 

“Well,” he said, “I have not had a 
holiday for a long time. Early to-morrow 
morning the Yokohama Maru sails for 
Nagasaki. I shall go by her.” 

“And the lady?” 

“It is highly probable that she will go 
too.” 

“You have outwitted the native?” 

He smiled complacently. 

“ My dear Osman, could you possibly 
imagine any other ending ? ” 


SAYONARA 


And if I lightly touch the strings 
Of memory , ’tis a sweet regret. 

Alas! who knows not many things 
That he would willingly forget ? 

And if I fling a careless rhyme , 

A sigh for that which oft has been, 
And live again a vanished scene, 
lit not the folly of all time ? 

For men shall work, and think, and love, 
And kiss, perchance , and ride away ; 
And dream, although they dreaming move 
’ Mid desolation and decay — 

A wilderness of vain desire, 

Peopled by shadows one and all: 

Anon the weary lids shall fall, 

And sleep shall soothe the eyes that tire. 











































































THE SILKEN CORD 

Ever since the episode of the “ Stolen 
Emperor/ 5 when I rendered his Imperial 
Majesty, the Son of Heaven, a personal 
service, I have been a sort of privileged 
individual in Peking, and within the sacred 
precincts of the Forbidden City. It was 
here I often came in contact with Loh-wi- 
Kung, one of the numerous officials of the 
celestial court. He was a fine-looking man, 
some thirty or thirty-five years of age, 
handsome as his race allows, well knit 
and splendidly proportioned. A general 
favourite at court, or, at least, as general a 
favourite as one could be among that 
envious crowd, he had been but lately 
promoted to the position of a Grand Secre- 
tary to the Emperor, and all people 


204 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

predicted that a vice-royalty would 
naturally follow. 

As for Loh himself, he seemed to enter- 
tain no foolish dreams of any such exalted 
post; and when I jokingly questioned him 
as to the probability of such a high mark 
of imperial favour, he shook his head. 
There was a great difference between 
writing a royal letter and governing a royal 
province. 

The fact is, Loh had not carved a vice- 
royalty out of his reputation: it was not 
one out of which a vice-royalty could be 
carved. True, he was a favourite of the 
Emperor, he was also a scholar of some 
pretensions; but he was a man of a some- 
what equivocal reputation — a libertine, a 
debauchee. When the Emperor forgot his 
dignity he herded with fellows like Loh; 
when an event of moment loomed upon the 
horizon, he called to his council a totally 
different class of men. 

All the same, Loh and the gentlemen of 
his kidney came in for most of the good 


The Silken Cord 


205 


things of this life, and but for his pre- 
sumption he might still be basking in the 
royal smiles of his imperial master. It is 
natural that contact with royalty must rob 
it of some of its terrors ; it is even possible, 
in some instances, that royalty may marvel 
at its own glory ; but even when most 
dissolute, it has a sort of drunken dignity 
which is apt to prove dangerous. Loh, wise 
in general knowledge, overlooked one 
essential. He forgot that the pallid youth 
who occasionally condescended to hang on 
his arm was the absolute lord and master of 
some four hundred millions of human 
beings. 

That Loh was an accomplished gentle- 
man was indisputable ; that he was 
extremely handsome no impartial observer 
could deny. I also thought that he was 
something more than a libertine. I believed 
that he had it in him to rise to distinction 
if he would only go to work in a proper 
manner ; but he was cynical to a degree, and 
always made fun of my serious proposals. 


206 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

With clear eyes he had chosen the muddy 
path — his shoes were thick with mud. He 
had gained the Emperor’s friendship, but 
at the loss of his own self-respect. I am of 
opinion that he did not think the gain of the 
one outweighed the loss of the other. 

There was a tone of desperate pessimism 
about the man which attracted me in spite 
of myself. Shame bred it, and pride 
brought the bitter words to the tongue. 
The Grand Secretary Loh, the confidant of 
the Fount of All Wisdom, was a miserable 
man. 

One day he came to me in my office, 
stealthily closed the door and locked it after 
him, and then stood staring at me with 
quick, inquisitive eyes. Every action, even 
the way he breathed, showed me that the 
man laboured under great excitement. His 
face was more pallid than usual; his long 
fingers beat inconsequent tattoos upon the 
breast of his coat. It was perfectly obvious 
that something serious had happened. 


The Silken Cord 


20 7 


Suddenly he shot out his open hand, 
saying, “You are my friend?” 

“ I hope so.” 

“I think I understand you, Clandon. 
You have the cold blood of the Englishman, 
the thoughtful brain.” 

“ My dear Loh, you flatter me.” 

“ I do not mean to flatter, Clandon ; no 
Chinese compliments, as you call them. I 
only think you are not so great a fool as I.” 

“ But I insist, my dear Loh ; you are very 
kind.” 

He waved his hand deprecatingly. 

“ I insist that you are not so great a fool. 
If you were, should I come to you ? ” 

“ But I protest.” 

“ Listen. How many times have you said, 
‘Loh, you are a yellow turnip; you fail 
utterly to do yourself justice?’ Tell me, 
how many times ? ” 

“ I hope I was never so rude.” 

“I threw away the husk, but preserved 
the kernel. The rudeness was forgiven for 
the wisdom within it. Is a man a swine 


208 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

that he should lead the swine’s life of horrid 
indolence? Was imagination given him to 
gloze his imperfections? You are a wise 
man, Clandon; tell me.” 

“ It was scarcely necessary that you 
should come to me for such an obvious reply. 
What has happened ? ” 

He looked at the door, then he turned 
once more and faced me. 

“Clandon, you are my friend?” 

“ Remember,” said I, “ that it is you who 
have come to me. I have not sought your 
confidence.” 

“Pardon me.” Again he looked round. 
Then he uttered oracularly the Chinese 
proverb, “When you converse in the road, 
remember there are men in the grass.” 

“ You are perfectly safe here.” 

“Then, Clandon, I’m in trouble.” 

I looked at him without speaking. It fre- 
quently happens that the surest way to 
obtain a secret is to evince but slight 
curiosity concerning it. 

“ You are not inquisitive ? ” 


The Silken Cord 


209 


“ My dear Loh, I rely entirely upon your 
wisdom. 5 ’ 

For a few moments he remained silent, as 
if cogitating within himself. Then he said, 
“ I am in disgrace.” 

Here, too, I might have indulged in a 
little cheap moralising upon the fickleness 
of princes, but out of deference to his 
feelings I refrained. At the same time, I 
was not a little surprised. I should have 
given the secretary a longer lease of royal 
favour. 

“ How did your wisdom let you stumble 
so foolishly ? ” 

He looked hard at me, lowered his voice, 
and whispered, “ Woman.” 

This was odd. That a stupid white man 
should make a fool of himself for a woman 
was a recognised form of idiocy ; but that a 
philosophic Chinaman should court disgrace 
for such a worthless cause was enough to 
make the learned Confucius turn in his 
grave. 

p 


2 IO 


Rose and Chrysanthemum 


“ My dear Loh I answered, “ you 
disappoint me horribly. Who is the lady ? ” 
“ The Princess Me.” 

“ The sister of the Emperor ? ” 

The secretary bowed his head and 
murmured, “ Unhappy Loh.” 

“ And the Emperor knows ? ” 

“ If he did, think you I should be alive 
to answer that question ? ” 

I did not. And yet the Emperor must 
know something, else how could the 
secretary be in disgrace? 

“ He knows nothing for certain,” Loh 
answered in reply to my query; “but I 
believe he is growing suspicious.” 

“ Then you are not absolutely in 
disgrace ? ” 

“ No, but I feel that I am tottering upon 
the verge.” 

“ Then draw back while it is yet time.” 
“ You do not understand. We have met 
many times in secret. We love each other. 
Heaven made us one for the other.” 

“ Tut, tut! What ^o you know of heaven ? 


The Silken Cord 


21 1 


The Princess Me is betrothed to Chung, 
the President of the Board of Ceremonies/’ 

“ But she loathes him. He is old and 
hideous.” 

“ Not so very old, and not so very hideous. 
Remember, friend Loh, you look with a 
rival’s eyes. You have been exceedingly 
indiscreet. The Emperors word is law. 
The Princess Me is not for you.” 

A hot word leapt to his tongue, but with 
an effort he held it back. An ominous flush 
swept his brow — the spirit of revolt had 
risen to blood heat. 

“My friend,” I said, rising and taking 
his hand, “ be wise. Are you strong enough 
to pit your strength against the Emperor? 
I think not. You come to me for advice, 
I give it, and it proves unpalatable. Yet I 
beg of you to listen, for it is the friend who 
speaks. I know not how far this affair 
has gone, but I beg of you not to let it go 
farther. You must renounce the Princess.” 

“I cannot. You do not know. Why, 


212 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

already she ” Then he stopped 

suddenly and looked confused. 

“ Tell me nothing,” I said, seeing that I 
dared not be sympathetic. “ It is folly for a 
man like you to ape the puling boy. Why 
let that vanity of thine set its heart on a 
star? Go home, friend Loh, and ponder 
over what I have said, and think not ill of 
me because I speak harsh words. Good 
medicine is bitter to the taste.” 

He went away with bowed head and a 
face which betokened the keenest dis- 
appointment. Like many of my Chinese 
friends, he came to me for advice, much as 
one would consult an oracle; and when I 
spoke with the plain tongue of a reasoning 
man I invariably dispelled the oracular 
illusion. But like most people whose 
interests clash with reason, though the two 
should go hand in hand, he was profuse 
in his thanks for my advice, though I feared 
he had no intention of carrying it into effect. 

The intrigue with the Princess Me was 
not renounced, as I, knowing the man, really 


The Silken Cord 


213 


did not believe it would be. Assuming 
many disguises, he repeatedly saw her, and, 
undoubtedly, his continued success bred in 
him a recklessness which conduced to his 
downfall. One night, disguised as a coolie 
woman, he was seen to leave the apartments 
of the Princess. The chamberlain who saw 
him, mistaking him for a thief, seized him. 
Loh fought furiously, but in the struggle his 
wig fell off. Aroused by the noise, the 
attendants came rushing forward, and 
instantly a dozen menials were in the 
possession of his secret. 

Knowing that the intrigue must now 
come to the light, Loh, who was released as 
soon as he was identified, hurried at once to 
his home, and, boldly facing the danger, 
spent the rest of that night in preparing a 
memorial to the throne. In this he 
reiterated his undying affection for the 
Princess, and his devotion to the illustrious 
Son of Heaven, whose royal clemency he 
begged. It was couched in the glaringly 
sycophantic form of such documents, a form 


214 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

calculated to sicken any one but a king, and 
not until it was written and rewritten again 
and again did he justly appreciate the bold 
step he was taking. Then his nerve failed 
him, and he thought of flight; but that 
would mean ruin, perhaps death, to all his 
family, and his filial piety w^ould not permit 
him to bring shame upon his honoured 
parents. For, with all their vices, the 
Chinese have one virtue — they do honour 
their parents. Of how many nations can 
we say the same? 

With the advent of day Loh forwarded 
his humble petition to the throne, and all 
through the long hours that followed he 
paced his rooms in an agony of expectation. 
But the day brought no tidings. After a 
certain hour he knew that no communica- 
tion would leave the palace. That hour 
came and passed. He breathed more freely. 
Afterwards he partook of food, the first for 
many hours. 

The next day came and went, and still no 
word from the throne. Loh’s spirits rose. 


The Silken Cord 


215 


The Emperor had not forgotten the friend- 
ship which had existed between them. 
Perhaps he might even forgive? The 
secretary saw something like his old face 
staring at him from the mirror. 

But at noon of the third day a court 
messenger arrived at the door, and into the 
secretary’s own hands presented his fate. 
Loll received it humbly, as one who is 
honoured by the imperial condescension ; 
but his face grew very pale, and his dry 
tongue beat vainly against the dry roof of 
his mouth. It was his fate. What was his 
fate? 

He examined it closely. He knew that 
wrapping well — the imperial seal was still 
intact. A dozen times he made as though 
he would break it, and a dozen times his 
trembling fingers seemed powerless to obey. 
At last when he did, he found that the 
package contained no word of writing — 
nothing but a silken cord . 

His face blanched to a ghastly white- 
ness; he staggered back, his hand to his 


2 1 6 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

throat, and gasped. Then he tottered to a 
seat, and sat shivering like one suddenly 
stricken with ague. Loh’s sun was about 
to set. 

This Silken Cord was the last mark of the 
Emperor’s favour. It meant that the 
secretary was to die, but it allowed him the 
great honour of taking his own life, an 
honour only permitted the highest in the 
land. Strangulation, ensuring as it does an 
unmutilated body, necessarily ensures an 
unmutilated soul ; whereas decapitation, 
mutilating the body, also mutilates the soul, 
which causes an inextricable amount of 
confusion in the other world, where 
mutilated souls are constantly rushing 
about in search of their own heads. 

Being a true Chinaman, and well 
grounded in the traditions of his race, he 
could not look upon this wordless message 
as anything short of an undeserved mark of 
imperial favour. To be permitted the 
privilege of taking his own life showed in 
what remarkable esteem he was held by 


The Silken Cord 


217 

the Emperor. Only the very highest in 
the land are accorded such a distinguished 
honour. Therefore, as one in duty bound, 
he felt much pride in having achieved such 
eminence in the State. And yet — such was 
his black ingratitude — he was not sure that 
he really appreciated the honour at its 
proper value. The Silken Cord was finely 
woven, and it would bear his weight to per- 
fection ; yet he seemed to entertain an 
insuperable objection to it. The fact is, he 
did not want to commit the happy dispatch ; 
ungracious as it may seem, he did not even 
thank the Son of Heaven for his pretty 
present. 

Yet how could he avoid his fate? He 
pondered deeply, but no avenue of escape 
offered itself. Though he fled from the city 
he could not take his parents with him, and 
to leave them behind meant that they would 
suffer in his place. For Chinese law, or 
justice, distinguishes little between the 
individual and his family. If it cannot 
punish the one, it will the other. Therefore 


218 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

all thought of flight must be abandoned. 
If he were not the basest of ingrates, he 
would go down upon his knees and thank 
the Emperor for his imperial consideration. 

And yet, strangely enough, he did not 
want to die, though given the imperial 
sanction to die in such a magnificent 
manner. Perhaps the thought of the 
Princess Me made him cling foolishly to 
life ; perhaps the thought of the grief of his 
aged parents; perhaps of the annihilation 
of a certain proud and pleasure-loving 
individual. Loh was a philosopher, and he 
saw but vaguely the end of the journey. 
Yet the hours were creeping on, and he had 
done no packing. At sunset the emissaries 
of the Emperor would appear. They must 
find him swinging by the Silken Cord. 

Not having seen him during the two or 
three days which he spent at home awaiting 
the reply to his petition, and meanwhile 
having heard a rumour of what had taken 
place, I approached an official and made 
inquiries, and learnt the whole story. As 


The Silken Cord 


219 

the official in question was just starting for 
Loh’s house to see that the imperial 
behest had been obeyed, I offered to 
accompany him, and together we set out. 

Arriving there we found the house in 
gloom, while the dreary sounds of lamenta- 
tion vibrated in the air. The father met 
us at the door, and between his sobbings 
and his moanings welcomed us to the house 
of sorrow. His son, the flower of his race, 
the pride of his life, was no more; but, 
thanks to the exalted magnanimity of the 
Son of Heaven, his paragon of filial piety 
had entered the land of spirits with a head 
on his shoulders. For such right royal 
clemency, the heart-broken father felt sure 
that heaven would lay up ten thousand 
merits for the Root of All Wisdom. Then, 
sounding once more his dreary note of 
lamentation, he led us slowly to an inner 
room, in the middle of which, suspended 
from a beam, floated the body of Loh. 

Though somewhat distorted, there was 
little difficulty in recognising him. The 


220 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

clothes were the same as those he had worn 
when last I saw him, and though I did not 
scrutinise his face very closely, I shuddered 
as I thought how hideous death makes a 
man. 

We turned away fully satisfied that the 
Emperor’s behest had been obeyed, and I 
sent some kind thoughts after the soul of 
Loh. Again the weeping father preceded 
us, proclaiming the virtues of his son, and 
attesting to the magnanimity of the 
Emperor. Then, as he handed us tea, he 
favoured us with a few particulars con- 
cerning the doings of his son before that 
imperially-honoured one undertook the 
happy dispatch; and among other things I 
learnt that, just previous to his suicide, Loh 
had paced madly up and down his garden 
for at least an hour, wildly bemoaning his 
fate. Indeed, he walked straight from the 
garden to his room, and, with the silken 
cord which the Emperor had so thought- 
fully presented, put an end to his miserable 
life. 


The Silken Cord 


221 


Of course we offered our condolence. 
It was very sad, yet we all three admitted 
that the Emperor had behaved in a way 
that was worthy of the imperial tradition. 
The star was great, but if it entered into a 
conflict with the sun it would be eaten up. 
But for reasons of my own I asked the 
father a question or two. 

“ You said that the lamented Loh went 
straight from his garden to the room ? ” 

He stopped his sighing and eyed me with 
a singularly penetrating look. 

“Even so,” he answered. 

“ And that, previous to committing the 
happy dispatch, he walked in the garden for 
at least an hour? ” 

He hesitated a moment or two. Then 
he said, “ Even so, your excellency .” 

“ Poor fellow! ” I replied. “ Poor Loh! 
We were excellent friends.” 

At this the fond father burst once more 
into tears, in the midst of which we left 
him. As we walked along my companion 


222 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

turned to me and said, “ What made you ask 
those questions about the garden ? ” 

That was the worst of a man in my 
position. To those who knew me, my every 
word, my every action had some hidden 
meaning. 

“ You must not forget that Loh was a 
close friend of mine, and that my grief for 
him is only exceeded by my reverence 
for the Emperor.” 

But what I really saw was the pair of 
new shoes which the suicide wore, shoes 
absolutely unsoiled , and I wondered how he 
could have walked in his garden for an 
hour without soiling them. 

But I had sufficient reticence to keep 
the thought to myself. The man beside me, 
court creature and sycophant, would have 
made much of my suspicions, and probably 
would have reaped extraordinary credit for 
a little ordinary acumen. In such a state 
of society he who was the last to gain the 
august ear had the best chance of prefer- 
ment. Moreover, this man was quite 


The Silken Cord 


223 


satisfied. He would duly certify that with 
his own eyes he had beheld the Secretary 
Loh hanging by his neck. Equally so would 
I. Then why set the calm mind throbbing 
with suspicion? 

And after all, what was there in this sus- 
picion? It is true that if Loh from his 
garden had gone and straightway hanged 
himself, his shoes must have shown the wear 
and tear of walking. And yet, who was to 
say that he had not changed them and put 
on a new pair for the journey? A Chinese 
corpse is usually well dressed. It must 
make an excellent first appearance in the 
next world. 

Yet, unexpected, the thought had come, 
and having arrived, it seemed extremely 
like making a long stay. My mind was ill 
at ease. I would have given a good deal 
for the permission further to examine the 
corpse. I would have gone back then and 
there if I could have done so without 
arousing the suspicions of my companion. 
Even when I tried to break away he insisted 


224 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

upon my journeying with him to the palace, 
at the gates of which we separated. 

I at once retraced my steps to Loh’s 
house, and was again greeted by the 
sorrowing father. Could I look once more 
upon the face of my beloved friend, the 
pride of his race, the flower of manhood, 
the soul of chivalry? The father wept 
copiously, but amid his tears I learnt that 
Loh had been taken down, that the coffin 
had already closed upon him, and that he 
would be buried secretly, as one who had 
died a shameful death. Expressing my deep 
regret at not being able once more to gaze 
upon the face of my friend, I took my 
departure, my suspicions not in the least 
allayed. It was evident that Loh was not 
appreciated above board. 

From a personal point of view his case 
interested me deeply, and for some consider- 
able time, in one form or another, I devoted 
much attention to his particular domicile. 
But nothing coming of it, I began to make 
inquiries concerning the Princess Me, and 


The Silken Cord 


225 


I learnt that she was practically a prisoner 
in her own apartments, her royal brother 
and lord being undecided how to punish 
her. It was said that her marriage with 
Chung was broken off, as the Emperor had 
judged her unworthy of an alliance with 
that exalted official; but what the facts 
really were no one seemed exactly to know. 
Only one thing was certain. The Princess 
Me was in disgrace. 

One day, as I lounged beside the gates 
that led to the women’s quarters, I saw a 
coolie woman, her face half smothered with 
a big bonnet, come staggering along beneath 
a huge bundle which she carried on her 
head. The bundle, being soft, hung almost 
to her shoulders, so that I got but an 
indifferent glance of her as she passed me. 
I saw her look my way and as quickly turn 
again — almost too quickly for one who 
would avoid suspicion. I watched her 
through the gate, and then advanced to the 
guard. 

“ Who is that coolie with the bundle? ” 

Q 


226 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

“ The Princess’s washerwoman, excel- 
lency.” 

“ A strapping wench,” said I, giving him 
a meaning look. 

He smiled. “ Quite hopeless. I have 
tried.” 

“ She is an old hand ? ” 

“ On the contrary, excellency, she has only 
been coming here two weeks.” 

“ How often does she come ? ” 

“ Twice a week.” 

I smiled as I whispered, “ Courage, my 
brave soldier.” 

He said something, but what I don’t 
remember, for my eyes were following the 
washerwoman as she approached a bend 
in the path. Would she look round? 
Something told me that she would, not- 
withstanding a cold, calculating mistrust of 
conjecture. And yet the intuition proved 
correct. As she rounded the bend the great 
bundle on her head slowly turned. I knew 
that the quick, black eyes were looking back. 

I walked away from the gate feeling the 


The Silken Cord 227 

best of friends with myself, and all because 
a coolie woman had honoured me with a 
glance of her black eye. In fact, I had 
already made up my mind to see more of 
her, and with that intention I took my seat 
at the window of a restaurant which 
commanded a view of the gates, and 
ordered something to eat. And yet the 
meal was cooked, eaten, and paid for, and 
the second cigar half-way through before 
my patience was rewarded. 

She came towards me, a somewhat similar 
bundle on her head, and as she approached 
I saw her quick, comprehensive glances 
shoot from side to side. That she did not 
see me I felt certain ; but from my coign of 
vantage I could see without being seen. 
When she had passed I went out into the 
street and followed her. 

For a long time I was in doubt as to 
whether she knew she was followed or not, 
and this rather undermined the foundations 
of the imaginary edifice which I had so 
laboriously constructed. It was obviously 


228 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

natural that a coolie woman who had no 
secrets would never dream of doubting her 
own insignificance. Such a woman would 
march straight on to her goal, never turning 
to right or left. And this was exactly what 
this woman did, striding sturdily forward as 
though oblivious of all the world. My 
doubts began to multiply like a ready 
reckoner. I was beginning to feel glad that 
this was not an official mission. 

Hitherto the woman had been making for 
one of the poorer parts of the city, but now 
she suddenly turned to the left and shot off 
at an acute angle, I after her. Through 
many streets she led me, now up, now down, 
and yet always nearing one point. That 
point was Loh’s house. She approached it 
without hesitation, but instead of entering 
at the front door, made her way round to 
the back. A high wall enclosed the garden 
in which poor Loh had taken his last 
earthly walk. 

By this time it was almost dark, and as 
the woman fumbled with the gate I 


The Silken Cord 


229 


advanced noiselessly and laid my hand on 
her shoulder. She sprang back with a slight 
exclamation, and instantly a knife flashed in 
the twilight. 

Stepping back with a smile, I said, 
“ Why so suspicious, my moon-faced 
divinity? ” 

“ What do you want ? ” she answered in a 
low voice, a voice which quivered with 
agitation. 

“ Merely to see your pretty face. I have 
come far, stimulated by the breath of hope.” 
She turned, and without speaking began to 
fumble at the lock. “ You are not 
inquisitive,” I continued; “you do not ask 
how far. Let me tell you: from the gate 
which leads to the apartments of the 
Princess Me — the Princess Me for whom 
my good friend Loh committed the happy 
dispatch. Is it not a little curious that 
the woman who washes for the Princess 
should also wash for his parents ? ” 

The woman stopped fumbling with the 


230 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

gate and faced me, apparently gaining 
courage from the growing darkness. 

“ You have dogged me? You are a spy? ” 
“ And if I admit as much — what then ? ” 

“ I say that you are a dog of the street, 
to be kicked and beaten” 

“And yet it is possible that you would 
regret doing either, for when a dog is 
kicked he sometimes turns and bites. But 
this dog is of another breed. He likes to do 
good, to sound the alarm when danger 
approaches. He is not a very wise dog, 
but he is just a little bit wiser than the 
other dogs about him.” 

“ Your words are strange,” she said, “ but 
your tone is friendly.” 

“I was the friend of Loh — I am the 
friend of all on whom the world frowns. It 
is not in accordance with established 
wisdom that the washerwoman of the 
Princess Me should come, even by a round- 
about way, from the palace to the home of 
the imperially-honoured Loh. If the official 
blockheads knew, even they might sus- 


The Silken Cord 


231 


pect something. For I must tell 
you that though Loh walked direct 
from his garden to the room in which we 
found him hanging, the shoes the dead 
man wore were absolutely new. Most 
remarkable indeed. He might have 
changed them, of course; only he didn’t. 
Luckily the official who was with me did 
not notice such a trifling detail. If he had, 
he might have examined the dead man 
more closely.” 

The woman was silent for a moment or 
two. Then she said, “You speak like a 
friend. What would you advise? ” 

“ You run great risk in visiting the 
Princess, because somebody may presently 
trace the connection between this house and 
the palace. Doubtless you have a sweet- 
heart? Try and persuade him to go with 
you to Hong-Kong. There you will be 
under English law, beyond the reach of the 
Emperor and all his mandarins.” 

In a moment the woman was on her knees 
before me, kissing my hands and murmur- 


232 Rose and Chrysanthemum 

ing broken words of devotion. And then 
my fingers curled round hers in a hearty 
grip. 

Having sown the seeds, I left time to 
ripen the harvest, and it ripened with a 
quickness which was truly abnormal. 
Within a week the news spread among us 
officials that the Princess Me was missing, 
and my inability to discover her where- 
abouts has always been used against me by 
my enemies. But about three months after, 
the Princess having been given up for dead, 
I received a curious epistle from Hong- 
Kong, which purported to be the account 
of a man who had received the Silken Cord 
from the Emperor, but who had so far 
disobeyed the Son of Heaven as to purchase 
a substitute, which he did for a very 
reasonable sum. But though the real 
offender had played his game with extreme 
ingenuity, he overlooked the fact that a man 
cannot walk in his garden without soiling 
his shoes. In a kind of postscript was the 
added information that a certain coolie 


The Silken Cord 


2 33 


washerwoman had prevailed upon her 
sweetheart to accompany her to Hong- 
Kong. 

Notwithstanding the sneers of my 
enemies, I really do believe I know what 
became of the Princess Me. 


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